I wrote a little story once –
A story of loss and woe –
With no major thought in mind
Except to throw the heart into a row.
But alas, my readers saw a tale
With metaphors and symbols and theme,
And shone it into the fiery light
Allowing my worthless story to gleam.
I wrote another story then –
One filled with ideas and strife –
In hopes that wisdom would grace me
And give my name great life.
My readers read through the tale
And loved it when finished and done.
But threw it away well enough
And called it simply fun.
The world seems to progress
With no order in mind.
What we strove and aimed for,
Might be different than what we find.
So now I go about my days
Without much reason or cause;
I'll leave the analyzing to someone else
To see my work with notion and pause.
A/N: This poem was written on a whim, created in just a manner of minutes. However, I thought it would be just interesting to share this.
Reviews and constructive criticism are much appreciated. Thanks!