Problem Poem by Lev Brekhman
Problem
Wishful understanding.
A problem is, of sorts
We hope for happy trading.
But simply, life aborts...
The sight through pinky glasses
Is the greatest lie.
So blindly live the masses
Until in Hell we fry.
Wednesday, October 15, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: irony
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4/24/2024 11:58:23 PM # 1.0.0.1119
