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The Rythem of life
I often see astray dogs, roaming the streets for a sense of purpose.
I am quick to find simlarties.
After all, why wouldn't there there any similarities.
If life is a game of poker, then my dealer had shuffled and dealt a set of cards that contained a theme of arbitrary in abundance, an infinite amount of unfortunate fortune, foreshadowed.
But who am I
I would of hope that the court of life awaits my case.
I'd believe that I would present my case and win.
Those that have trespassed against me would testify against me,
But the act of their trespass would be my evidence.
The ace up my sleeve would be the jury.
That's only if the jury had eyes to see and ears to hear.
But who am I?
The judges will decide.
The likes of me abibe.
Their ruling deemed to be arbitrary and unjust.
Played by the rules of learnt ethics and morals,
As a result,
The looser has to fall and
The winner took it all.
But who am I?
Guilty!
I have played my best cards.
No more cards to play.
Guilty feet has no rythem,
But I was never in sync with the rythem of life.
Is this the color of life?
Why should I complain.
But Who am I to complain?
Be gone!
Am I now forgotten as historical evidence that had been lost in transit,
On it's way to future generations that require the truth,
A sense of heritage to neutralize the doctrine of man.
The wind pushed me into the abyss.
The similarity between myself and the dog now personified.
But who am I after all?
Copyright ©
Emmanuel Williams
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