So, he accepted the mundane
over his dream
Only for a short while
as no choices were foreseen
So he slaves away for
pennies and dust
He has to do this doesn’t
he, doing what he must?
Oh it’s a struggle to
sell his soul
It leaves an emptiness
a gaping hole
He sits in the dark
drifting away
Hoping for happiness
and better days
But none exist here as
this he knows
Only bad karma does
here flow
Time to turn it
all around
Something good is waiting
for him to be found
But for now the mundane
This his life’s bane…
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Posted in: Poetry
Posted on August 29, 2012
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