Gord

2018-08-21 11:26 am

Friends spoken to be millionaires paid,
Mind hopeful, experience bar full,
I'm hoping to get a millionaires pay,
Friends along with, interiors vague.

Though rhymes alone do not denote caste,
They are like paste, or a paper,
Clinging to the things we wish to frame.

Like metal rods with a magnet lace,
I walk back to my original place.
Pens broken and arms folded in front,
Mind hopelessly lost of useless knots.

Life like a lark, but come too soon,
So hopelessly lost, inside of dark,
Heart fought and hard fought,
And eventually the daybreak comes.