why is it sometimes we don't see the road
paved with bad intentions, empty of nodes
we stumble like drunk bitches in white heels
eager to show off how fast we can steal
why is it sometimes we lose our course
even with a map, we seek mad discourse
taunting the sky and burning our bridges,
until we see death's eyes through the ridges
why is it we need to leave and go far
to know who we are, so far from a star
falling to depths, like used cigarette stick
we robbed ourselves, hollowed soul, so tragic
to seek again the road we thought so small
but holds our peace, we find, it was all
Posted for D'verse Poets Pub: FormForAll: Clarian Sonnets: composed of seven sequentially rhymed couplets – aa bb cc dd ee ff gg – in pentameter, or ten syllables per line.
and Imaginary Garden with Real Toads: Challenge on the Roads Picture credit: here
