I Might Quit Poem by Job Laz

What kind of life is this?
Dawn so promising,
The noon castigating with the blossoming rose,
Gracing the path

An orchard it seem
But within lies coals that burns like a furnace,
Pleasurable it may look
But the pain it incurs remain unbearable,

Before, I saw my sprouting dreams,
My shooting visions
All line in sequence but by dusk
I saw it crumble like a pack of cards

Will my hand be fit to sail anymore?
Will my will carry me on?
Cos defeated I always bow.