A few throw in their Towel.
Some drown in a Pool of Tears.
A few fight life, like Fighters.
Others suffer through the Years.
Few string up their sentences
and bleed with words they Write.
Writing Prose and Poetry,
they hardly sleep at Night.
Fighting their daylight Battles
and waging a War with the World.
Their Words at times hold Promise.
Alas like a stone they’re Hurled.
Words don't decay or rotten.
I read them as I lie down in Bed.
For Others they seem all forgotten. 
I'll keep reading them, till I'm Dead.