English poetry, Mindful

Wistful


The fate of a lost one,

Left in the mess of a dome,

In vain searching for a bright light,

Yet finding more lone sights,

The heart so broken,

Weak n disturbed with no hope,

But must find the exit,

Whether death or life,

For there is no one,

To help n guide,

The worth of ur soul,

Is stated clearly,

So torn or not,

Keep on going,

U will find the right,

Just not the flight!

 

Mindful

The Beauty of It All


Even in this era

This world of evil

We r a few

That still remain so innocent

So vulnerable to those of even a lil evil

Man iss a miracle to remain

Til the end of time

The evil one has a hard time believing

Since it is such a unique rarity

N of course the one built of dirt

Will definitely misuse to any extent

They hav a live stupid toy

To manipulate or ruin crumble

Shiver me timbers!