There need be no spectators to your triumph. You were not given this mountain to show others it can be moved. You were not given a key just to sit and rattle your cage. You let your fear of papercuts keep you from turning the page. You'd die of thirst while tossing pennies into fountains. You spend your life kicking up dirt and complain about moving mountains.
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Author:
c.b (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: December 17th, 2017 13:22
- Comment from author about the poem: This poem isn't really finished, but I'm having trouble writing lately.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 31
Offline)
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