A World To Me Poem by Andrew Michaels

'Tis but a space in measured time
'Tis but a world that curse implies
'Tis but a hope in sharp decline
'Tis but a share that chance denies

It may well be, as some sick-twisted fate
Yet for now, it seems fraught with hate
A world to me, no better than any other
To wear on life, like an unskilled mother

And no charge nor tireless revenge
Shall make this world so grand again
A world to me, should be held despised
To bear its sorrow, from deeds ascribed

It may well seem, that the sun risen new
Would be more able, with a sky so blue
A world to me, built from childlike trusts
So rare in beauty, while its wisdom rusts

'Tis but a home in its created place
'Tis but a light we brief embrace
'Tis but a garden sphere in open space
'Tis but a world of mere fragile grace