On the edge of a silver knife
Engulfed by a flame
On the brink, the verge of life
Nothing ever again the same

Looking back; not having made a mark
Nothing extraordinary to fill the frame
A life most average; one without spark
No power, recognition or fame

Without that to make it worthwile
Anonymous, without a name
Life monotonous, like a file
Time to start playing the game

Taking life into the hand
No more wandering lame
Growing to quartz from a mere strand
Jumping out of the cycle of shame

Sands do fall, clocks do tick
Beyond the level of blame
Alliances fickle, nothing does stick
Life finally with an aim

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem

This Poems Story

Reflecting on the carousel of life.