Thy repeated endless cycle
Of dawn the new start
And of dark the end of old
But ever the same despair
On a continuous motion of light and dark
The sense of being nothing more than a rag
Torn and tattered
Oh will there be a day!
To not be used for
To clean the filth of others
Or belittled to feed others egos
alas!
No!
Thy cycle shall reign once again
And time wont mend the wounds
That of a torn rag