I miss the day of yesteryear
when a spoon would feed your mind
short amount of words would thrive
hours lack in length
make you feel tired
now you write until
no longer
your hand aches from
ink
the stain upon
the oil burner of days
end
would stop you to think
hit the sack
before you know it
the struggle
commences once more
I wrote this, this afternoon. I guess I was thinking about a time when life seemed a little easier. I think that sometimes when we look back to childhood and times similar to that, that we have this illusion that life was easier. In some ways it was and in others it wasn't. Life comes with so many challenges but if you don't keep going then - will there be a point in living? I hope this poem isn't too sad and gloomy...
