I am tired, truly, no joke
Even though my tone is soft and my words lift heat through soil.
I am tired with life
Success has not a home that nourishes protection
Nor does love have shelter that harbors my affection.
I am tired of life, but I will not take my own
So through death my pen lingers on, hoping to lie gracefully within a page where conception offers hope,
But what happens when deceit no longer floats?
Should I accept the tides and allow the under toe to whisper alluring quotes?
No pain, No lies, No guilt, No deceit
No refund on life because you have obtained the wrong receipt
Maybe this is not my reality
Maybe this is a modern-day scripture or Surah I have yet to read
Why can't I just be happy and content with mediocrity?
Minor issues bother me, I need new solvency
Yet "G", the obese homeless man that dwells within the Jack London streets, needs a home, not just a roof and clean sheets
"G" needs love and a soft comforting woman to bake him something sweet
Maybe "G" is where I'll be in the years to come
Tired of life, lonely, with no bills to dwell upon
Emotional pain to the core
But I have a pen and a reservoir filled with unwritten topics to explore
Maybe when I'm done, I won't be tired anymore
But right now, I've enough ink in my pen to fight life for heavens door!
Every one becomes tired, so don't give up, now maybe the right time to explore!