Hostages To Fortune
Bulk of money lying on my bed
Originality microscopic and long dead
I don’t take credit for your misconception
Dreams are simple but the world isn’t
Because, on every trophy lies a faded tint
Industrial buildings and well-planned cities
Then with retired sum the moors perhaps and landscapes so pretty
Life is an instrument not like a fiddle
Play it you will but with turmoil in the middle
Disappointment over bills come fast
But when we earn and earn, our gold does not last
Glee in sunset reflects time
Time for diamonds I need to make mine
So escape, I want to the hills
But without confidence there lies no thrill
So wake up everyday and comeback every night
Don’t put up a fight
And so goes the drill!
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
