STRUGGLE OF A DREAM
What's with this thinking kind?
What's with this brain of mine?
I don't want these thoughts no more.
They drag me down and leave me sore.
I wished to find a house complete.
With roof and walls and ground concrete.
But all I found was a hole in the ground.
And a stray hound that had drowned.
Like a matchstick girl or a wayfaring stranger.
My life's at stake and hope is endangered.
What's the use of being bold,
when life and hope are getting old.
Oh, this struggle of a dream.
So much harder than it seems.
Struggle, struggle, then you die.
Everything else is a lie.
Poetry by Daybreaker
Read 413 times
Written on 2006-09-10 at 23:11
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Kathy Lockhart |
