Our lives hang,
From one thread,
Spider web, thin.
And yet we go on,
Groping in the dark,
Of our useless existence,
Like Autumn Leaves
Waiting to Fall.
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I love to see people do good,
What is Life worthIf we can neverTrust, one another.So much Hate,So little Love,So much blood spilled,Never enough!Running out of time,A Mountain of Destruction,Is History’s climb!
Very few poems are happy,
Very few poets are happy,That’s why on poems they feast.
Time,
My consumer, the past,Of a life that will not last,In fleeting seconds you consume,The fire and strength of youth,You cause desire to become withered,And of no use.Time,Present is so fleeting,Moments of happiness,Like Ice, sleeting.Time,Future always uncertain,Waiting for the closing curtain.
How easily depressed we can become!
We’re certainly dark creatures of unrest,Not even Freud could change us for the best,As humans we don’t really pass the test.Sorry!
In Art as in Life
Not always,Everyone’s dreams.
I wonder if an Author of a play,
While writing what they say?Becomes all his Characters created,Come what may?What a beautiful, full Life!In every way.