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To grief are we destined!

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Mystics of life

wander in the fogs of grime

dirt is raised at times prime

sallowed and famished

I hark like a bird harassed

in sweet times of the morning

life appears to be a waste

surrounded by ill wishers

I wish for breath

stifled are smiles

mind thinks none

there is that moon

and there are those stars

sadly how far

and how alien

when times get better

they look like grouped in my palms

how I wish you would see

your own plight and mine

is it grief

to which we are destined!

What do you think?

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Written by Glower4

Glower is a writer cum poet who is a commoner endowed with uncanny gift of extreme and deep abstract thought resulting in astonishing written word.

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