Life

A little of this and a little of that life as seen by a troubled soul.

Oh life! What do you have to give,
To a poor soul like mine.
Nothing spare a bag of dreams,
That have neither an end nor any means.

And why do you take
The little I have so lovingly held
The peace of mind oh so dear

Now I am scared to look beyond
For what knows might be roobed of me.
The costume so full of scars
They will hold for seven lifes
Yet as I stand broken today
I realize my time is not done away.