When I was little, weak, and ill
When I was little, weak, and ill and mom not telling what’s
the deal.
She gave me hugs, and love, and still, she built my mind,
resolve, and will.
Yet, I am muzzled by piecemeal approach to life. And I
distill
Whatever memories remain, use them sporadically for pain.
Life gives me boost, but it’s a drain, there was a time when
I was vain,
When shallow thoughts provide allure, but list of obstacles,
it grew.
Yet, life and I are never through, we please each other all
the time.
To love, to feel, you need no dime, you only need the will
to live,
To breath, create, and to abate, to calm and chill, be less
irate,
To kiss and dream, love on a whim, and lights they dim, but
on a stage.
I’m burning sage, and don’t engage, ignore the boundaries of
cage,
But my periphery is great, and future memories await,
It is my fate to never hate, my personality, my trait.
I must go in, I must create, but I’ve been slacking as of
late.
At any rate, in any case, my life is mine, I shall embrace.
