The hopeless most often wish for wings,
Light and airy feathered things,
To whisk them softly to faraway dreams,
Where their troubles are melted by moonbeams.
They fear the most,
Being forever lost,
Among those who can boast,
Of lives worth a toast.
Troubled not are their thoughts of never waking,
From dreams of snow always flaking,
Of sunshine never breaking,
And of love forever sating.
Yet each new day brings naught,
Of wings or else they’ve sought,
Nor relief from what they’ve wrought,
Only dreams of wings never brought.
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.06 seconds at 2:21am on Nov 11, 2024 via server WEBX1.