No backup, what a scary thought, With nothing to rely on, we're caught, In a world that's uncertain and fast, Where anything can happen, at any time, at last.
By Poemsabout a year ago in Poets
Chickens, feathered creatures of the land, Clucking and pecking, with beaks so grand, Scratching and foraging, for bits of feed,
A cutting board, a simple piece of wood, With scratches and marks, that tell a story, it could, Of meals made, and ingredients sliced,
Twelve, a number with significance so grand, With roots in time, and a history so planned, It's the number of zodiac signs, in the sky,
Skipping rope, a simple childhood toy, With memories of laughter, and joys of boy, Jumping and twirling, with feet so light,
I just wanted to die, a thought so dire, A feeling so heavy, with a soul so on fire, In a world that's cruel, and a heart that's cold,
My ex, a person, once close to my heart, Memories shared, that now, just fall apart, A love once strong, now distant and weak,
Cholesterol, oh what a foe, A silent danger, don't you know, It clogs our veins, causes strife, Leading to heart disease, what a life.
I am sick of, a feeling so low, A state of mind, that just won't let go, Tired of the routine, and the daily grind, A soul that's weary, with a spirit confined.
Hustle, a word that's full of drive, A spirit so fierce, that helps one survive, It's the push to keep going, when times are tough,
A wick, a thin string, so simple and plain, A tool so humble, but with purpose so vain, It's the bridge between the flame and the wax,
Join the club, a group of peers, With common interests, and shared ideas, A place to belong, a community to grow, Where friendships are formed, and bonds begin to show.