I Am My Own Slave
Indebted to Myself
Tirelessly I work, slaving away.
Yet, relaxing does not remove the burden of today.
Running away would bring sweet monetary dreams of grandeur.
Alas, I am destined for something much more grander.
Nevertheless, the work must be done regardless how much I perspire.
The legacy I leave behind will carry on pass me, even after I've expired.
...
Author's Notes: Thank You for reading. If You like to read other poems written by me about establishing a collection of writings, then please click the two links below. May You enjoy them. Feel free to leave a comment. I look forward to Your perspective.
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More stories from Thavien Yliaster and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Fish Song
The room didn’t smell like disinfectants. Its fragrance seemed light and not overbearing. A soft mixture of lavender and mint permeated the space. No beeping machines or any tubes hooked up to four-year-old Kaleeka. Her cacao skin seemed to glow from the light over her head. The family, save for one and the doctors and nurses exited the room like a trail of saints showing their last vestiges of regard.
By Skyler Saunders6 days ago in Fiction
Comments (3)
Loved the acrostic!
Well said
Yes - we are too often slaves to ourselves - to our perceived legacy