A Great Tip Poem by Benjamin Wiche

A great tip from an apocalypse,
Holding my lip,
looking before I leap,
So I might enjoy my sleep and my peace won't skip,
I'll be ignorant of how time flies,
Living in lies,
Feeling the air,
I should know how much heaven care,
I can overcome all threat,
As long as I acknowledge that my nostril has breath,
Golden moments are always swept away,
When wrong motives are kept always,
I must mind what I sweep,
So tomorrow I don't weep,
In my quest to quench my thirst,
I shouldn't put the truth behind,
And to my freedom I become blind,
Chosen from the rest,
Doesn't mean that am the best,
I guess,
There is a grace for every race in every place,
When the way seem tight,
I need the right appetite to escape the serpent bite,
My sky is full of stars, I won't let fear tear me apart,
After all I've heard and those I've read,
This is what is left in my head,
We live in a war in survival's tour.