#5 of Poetry
A quick piece. Written 2016.
Does morning bring us rays of hope or just another day?
Does evening give us chance to cope or just a time to lay?
Each time the sun goes overhead, we pass another dawn.
Each hour counted till our bed, another memory gone.
What chance have we to catch the grains of ever following sands?
What matters more than morning rains glistening in your hands?
What do I want? Do I want the perfect job, a happy family, a pretty little house with a picket fence, two point something children and a dog all made of plastic? What do I want? A flashy car, safe as a tank that can drive itself two hundred...
I'm a quillhog; that's what I am. Got a backside of spikes to protect my can. If you haven't guessed, I'm a porcupine. Whether you like it or not, that's just fine. I go where I want and I do my thing With a pack of prickle pokers on the tail I...
Once upon a bit of never There was a canine that thought himself clever He decided to spend his idle time Befriending a lonely porcupine The rodent sat in his cozy den Writing on paper with his quill pen The puppy tried to start to play But the...