In sleeplessness there is a worry,
Of whether true ease can be born,
Hoping that my heart doesn’t hurry,
With coldness so make it warm,
Starting to think with soul I do,
Concocting many pleasures,
Ridding away the cynic blue,
Replaced with loving treasures,
Although across the good green Earth,
The suits may have their wars,
But I strafe from bullet with my mirth
To escape deep bloody sores,
Differences are shouted and screamed,
Across the bench and in street,
I refuse to add to this putrid steam,
Thus, I play in more wholesome feats,
Of course, in my acts of stealth,
I compose a thoughtful tribute,
To those who are in bad health,
Who still fight to contribute,
So, we should make a declaration,
To pack up theses hatreds in case,
Turning such gloom into elation,
Hence reviving a familiar embrace.
- Author: AuburnScribbler ( Offline)
- Published: April 7th, 2017 07:01
- Comment from author about the poem: I wrote this poem after a very rough night's sleep without the heating on, as I need a new boiler but will be installed soon (I hope), but I had this little thought in the wee small hours and wrote it down. After reading it back it warmed me up no end and I hope it warms you up as well. Hope you enjoy.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 32
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