Category: Writers Block
My gems can tarnish and decay in a puddle,
while my silk lies ripped in the trash.
My friends can all turn their backs on me,
and my house can be burned to ash.
As long as I don't have happiness,
the success has gone to waste.
The time took to reach achievement was simply consumed
as it seemingly went by with posthaste.
The words I write are meaningless
and all I've said and done should be ignored.
The gentle, kind person I've tried to become
will be useless effort put forth.
As long as I have no dream--no goal,
I haven't a reason to be here.
The trying and struggling I went through to succeed
will only be precious, wasted years.