Class

Class

I stay bored, lying in my gentle abode

I seek more, and sigh from staying alone

Sand in the hourglass float and fall

Children grow and mature, becoming tall

Papers crinkle and pencil marks are erased

Journeys ending I remain un-phased

Passing phase, perform on a dying stage

All that ends once you age

Money burns and corpses rot

And soon I die- forget me not

Ancient texts of gold and solemn wonder

Twisting and turning, living and earning I meander

Words too short and words too long

It makes me wonder where they belong

Sodden clothing stained with tears

Awake now and realize fear

Blood and sweat drip and taint

Cold anger makes you shake

Suddenly warmer appears a saint

Though life is you and what you make

As a wise man said:

'The love you make

Is equal to that you take'

Twisted speech is what wins bread

Poison and cyanide, speed and cheap lead

None prescribed and all are dead

Death and life lay hand in hand

Not all can comply with this simple demand

Find someone and rest on their shoulder

Summon strength and lift the bolder

The silver apple that lies in secret garden

Pluck it and become warrior ardent

Let me lie, I am not of this time

True or false all remains fine

byTawanda W.T Mulalu

To be published on www.stuffiwite.blogspot.com as part of 'Bad Poetry II.'