Wednesday, November 20, 2013


“Life is no bed of roses,
You better write some verses”
Is one precursor to the other?
Or are they both pitted versus?
I then take flight to a land,
Armed with my repertoire,
Would my words see me through?
Without dipping into the reservoir?
My thoughts came with wings,
In wild abandon, it flies,
The unflustered freedom,
The turmoil within it belies.