Poetry

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Really seems as if life, is a constant struggle,
and everyday is added, a new problem to juggle.
Just sailing through it all, in an endless typhoon,
seeming all time spent, is just howling at the moon.
And I am no beggar, and do want to earn my keep,
but it really does seem, that the cost is too steep
And I know whiners, are not liked by anyone,
but come on already, or has life just run out of fun.
It is said in the challenge, does the prize remain,
but attempting to reach, is an absolute strain.
And although told in hard work, a reward will be,
if it is just a little rest, that would indeed suit me.
For I do not want fortune, and I don't need fame,
and surely don't want the world, to know my name.
I really am content, to be just this drop in this sea,
but I feel a prisoner, and I cannot break free.

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