I wrote a poem at school. You make what you want of it.
Hath thou no might
from thy hopeful knight,
though decisions be wary,
results are very scary.
Thy hesitates to believe
if not then to take leave,
for the sudden breeze
snatches away with heavy fees.
Hardship knows no bounds,
within the recess of our forgotten crowns.
Hopeless and wild, the weights on our ankles freed...
We are free, we are free!
But anguish fills our hearts,
the battle leaves us grit to core,
powerless no more...
I look down to those that are damned,
so easily and readily scammed.
They ask me, the decider of the risque,
"Where will we go,
"what will we do?"
Attempts to retreat to the recesses of my own tired mind,
looking for that of which I have resigned.
The only remains are of blank faces,
and of empty spaces.
Looking to my bitter heart
of which resembles engine part,
I see not one kind feeling,
rather my emotions keeling.