Contradictionary
I feel that I've not done,
Everything that I should do.
I've not found the sun,
Nor what rain,
May have to prove.
Every word is dry,
With a fighting attitude,
Trying to deny,
What I'd truly say to you.
I've tried to be the kind,
To write,
And please your very eyes.
Yet there comes a time,
When my muse,
Runs and hides.
Nay! This game of pain,
Is not what I ordain.
Peace will be sustained,
On the day,
I write again.
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