Not Well Arranged Days Of Lore

should i blame my sorrow
for not rhyming my tomorrow?

should it be the rush hours of the day
which in truth makes humanity so clumsy?

one puts a responsibility on the hour
only to feel like a powder of the flour

the days are flying like finches on the hills
how can anybody pay attention to his skills

the emotions are coming like soldiers from a war
a war that they lose, oh these bloody whore!

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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