Sonnet 1
Just as life moves along,
We empty our selves as a bucket with a hole.
Moving forever onward,
Until me reach an emptiness,
One that cannot be known by those who are full.
The love of another,
Just as the fluid in a bucket,
Fills us with purpose.
Without ones purpose what does one have,
But an empty shell moving every onward to a grim end.
Let oneself find themselves a friend who like a patch will cover you,
Allowing you to fill once more and continue ever onwards.
A friend can help you persevere,
A trustworthy companion wouldn't forsake a friend.
Copyright © Anthony Wooldridge | Year Posted 2020
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