The Pessimist
Maybe it's been the same for you,
When nothing is out of the blue,
Just a monotony of predictable,
Surrounded by a glut of tangibles.
When the sun becomes a burning nuisance,
And the rain an inconvenience,
Autumn leaves are just a mess,
And flowers an allergic stress.
Slowing down seems an option taken away,
Life's just blurry days,
Words are said but not heard,
Ain't it a wonderful world.
Copyright © Mercy Soriano | Year Posted 2013
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