Unfinished poetry, under the knife.
Unfinished stories of solace and strife,
So many whims to which we cater,
We all delay so many things,
Somehow we think them best done later,
A promise that tomorrow brings.
Years go by, and nothing still.
So much to dream, so much to do.
Nothing’s come, and nothing will.
Make your time, ‘fore it makes you.
Unfinished poetry, under the knife.
Unfinished poetry, unfinished life.
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3 comments:
Wishing you all the best today, Mal. I hope you had a great day and all your wishes come true. :)
Thanks, Inkpot. Ema's here right now, and we're yucking it up. Lots of people to come. I thought I'd give myself a gift today by writing a poem.
Merry Christmas, my dotcomrade. (I just learned that word today from the urban dictionary.)
Ema: "And it's an *awesome* word."
Glad you're having a party. Have a drink on me (I'm afraid it has to be a virtual drink - in other words, an imaginary one) :)
Ema is right. Dotcomrade rocks. Merry Christmas to you too, and a fantastic new year in 2009.
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