Proud little moments in between fits of defeat
up beat, down beat, mid beat so fleeting
triumph on top of tragic failings
the polarity is rich and glaring.
You can't show too much in your face
just do your best, your usual taste
but those showers are hot, so hot
can't seem to get a hold of this lot.
You can act, play pretend for a while
you can let out secrets from the crack of your smile
smile while you can and while it's sweet
later you'll shudder in the depths of your defeat.
Your proud moments belong to your seed
that child is more than you'll need
even with the cold rush you feel
your heart can't possibly reveal.
Honest moments are stolen
masks are your prized beholden
sleep escapes you, you deserve none
too much to do, too much to have done.
Every day a set, a schedule of monotony
feelings of abandon, none of pity
no rainbow or gold to be had
just grit and disappointment's the fad.
The latest news is to keep at it
even with loose dust in your pockets
zeros in your luxury bin
you try hard as if you'll win.
The bare minimum would be welcomed
in the rugged climate of the stark and dim
in the land of many opportunities
seems like it isn't so, or not so lucky.
To continue means destitution
you pray for a finality, resolution
you beg for mercy from this long road
but receive fool's gold.
About the Creator
S. L. McGee
A writer who has written for as long as I can remember. Mother, student, fashion enthusiast, self-professed blerd and all-around goof. Inspired by many horror/fantasy writers, and I write urban fantasy and horror.
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