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Rated: · Poetry · Personal · #1260295

A poem about stress and life and such things.

I work and toil,
while earth it spoils.
what is life?
Is it right?
Or is it wrong,
To question the makers song?

I tense this chest
to get this check
to spend on rent.
What's left is stress.
What is stress?
My blood it boils, like hot searing lava.
My love it toils,
© Copyright 2007 Valkorin Leviathon (hakorre at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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