We scribble in lead
Still the light won’t shed
Just one single beam
On the wonders we mean
The thoughts are bottled
Our motives modeled
But left empty handed
With all words stranded
Among a blank page
Lost war we’ve waged
Our feelings much more
But our pens on the floor
We’re excessively writing
The words still fighting
Though many have passed
The attempts still last
It’s a battle bound to be lost
Lives and souls the cost
Yet we bare are chests
Hope for the best
That maybe one will hear
The written message clear
Each letter we arrange
Form words meant to change
Bring happiness, end quarrel
Each story with a moral
Thousands of poems are done
And I’m riding on just one.
Jan 2, 2012
Jan 2, 2012 at 12:26 PM UTC
We scribble in lead
Still the light won’t shed
Just one single beam
On the wonders we mean
The thoughts are bottled
Our motives modeled
But left empty handed
With all words stranded
Among a blank page
Lost war we’ve waged
Our feelings much more
But our pens on the floor
We’re excessively writing
The words still fighting
Though many have passed
The attempts still last
It’s a battle bound to be lost
Lives and souls the cost
Yet we bare are chests
Hope for the best
That maybe one will hear
The written message clear
Each letter we arrange
Form words meant to change
Bring happiness, end quarrel
Each story with a moral
Thousands of poems are done
And I’m riding on just one.
An old poem. I hate my old poems.