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Week 3
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14/01/2019 7:04 pm
Pieces of ice in my eyes,
behold the king of worries.
Negotiating with these airs,
just wanna fly past my fears.
I am the rain falling boiled,
running from the brown sun.
I am the skies getting grilled,
burnt, I become those clouds,
too dark for the sphere's hands!
I've seen the eyeballs of the worst,
while the worse just got divorced.
The miserable is but a fine name,
for one who got his luck maimed!
If life were a bed of roses,
it'll be but a scene in a dream,
or a fancy line in an old fairy tale.
But life is the name of pain
christened so by its realities.
Worries are it's paint colors,
the blue on the red or white,
it yet turns black; shadows!
© Ben James
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