on this fertile humanity's fallow
and as my master taught,
my hope on humanity should be forever taut
my achievements never come easy
I toil a thousand times more for just a measly
they do not find value in me,
judging me not even worth a dime
in my silence, alone
I trudge the path forlorn
my search for parity a blank slate
I start to think in this life I shall be late
the seedlings wither young
my ambition dwindles; reality has rung
this life's marathon I still run,
never knowing when my toils will be done
Image: David Grayson, Great Possessions, Drawing of a Road from public-domain.zorger.com
2 Reaction(s); Leave a comment:
A beautiful poem, and one I can relate to so well. I have been here, felt these feelings, but also know to treasure the beauty of hope.
Thank you Bernadine, glad to hear from a person that can relate.
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