It’s so odd to think that you’ve wasted a day.
Yielded to submission,
Succumbed to the norm,
Accepted and embraced ones mediocrity—
Have we reason to be fond of hollowness?
No pride, null of shame,
And yet so full of—what?
Emptiness and void of anything,
The dim twilight we are warned against,
How hard is it to try in the least?
If failed, then one shall still progress!
The only one who’s failed
Hasn’t even tried at all,
The one who hasn’t succeeded
Has his precious recollection.
I’ll tell you,
Succeeding has no place
In *living.