The Trouble With Life
 
The time goes fast,
And soon there’s no more.
No one is left,
Just a creaking door.
It’s fake and empty,
I sit and cry on the floor.
I’ve tried so hard,
And it seems to be a book of lore.
For all the trouble,
Someone kept score.
So now I’ll leave,
Because I can’t take it anymore.
 
 
 
This poem is copyright © to Mike Davidson 1997