The Art Of Life Poem by Rachel Weaver
The Art Of Life
Everything in life is a question and I dont have the answers.
My innocence has betrayed me.
I pray to nothing that this will go away.
My dreamcatchers broken and the dreams are leaving quickly. Breaking the hollow doors to get out, quietly not making a sound.
With broken wings and shattered hope I'll try to fly but fall to the ground and wonder why.
Why do only sinners cry? Why do the nice ones get to die? Why arent they punished and left to linger in this hard life.
Life is an art and I'm all out of paint, maybe I can use some charcoal, that was a mistake.
Now life is black and grey. I fear living more then dieing, maybe because I was never taught about trying
Are you sure your 'innocence' has betrayed you...or your naivete? Are you sure only sinners cry? When you ask 'Why do the nice ones get to die? Why aren't they punished '...(why, if they are indeed the 'nice ones?) You need to think what you want to say, then make each line consistent with what your goal might be. I like 'Life is an art and I'm all out of paint.' Perhaps this would be a good first line for a poem exactly on that subject. You are all over the page, Rachel. Re-read it and I'm sure you will see that's true. It is worth saving if you work on it. Raynette
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/28/2024 2:25:17 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Raynette, I do agree with you. This poem was written a year ago. And it is all over. Thank you for the comments and I will work on improving what you have said. Thanks again -Rachel