Ephemeral short poem

Photo by kcxd

Eyes crack open with the searing of the darkened sky,
Awaiting the auspicious oncoming day,
Rousing one to feel sanguine and air of optimism,
Of high hopes and opportunity which close by lay.

Yet with the batting of a wing habitual acts many commence,
Clad in suits mechanically running to and fro,
Aimlessly passing the hours conversing of futile matters,
While falling prisoner to palm sized masters which glow.

To where had gone the early dawn’s inspiration,
Of a day utilized past its extent,
Filled with achievements lofty and worthy of pursuing,
Leaving one feeling elated and content?

Anguished with musings of regret and melancholy,
As night comes and with a quilt they wrap,
Earnestly vowing to treasure and wisely use their finite time,
Waking to foolishly fall anew into their own trap.

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Treelore Forrest

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All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost, The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost.- J.R.R. Tolkien
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Ephemeral Me

Ephemeral Me short poem

My life depends on how fast you unload Ephemeral me; who prays for either too hot or too cold I sustain such extremes for my survival I pray for some reuse before recycle You chat and engage for long is