In a house
In a house on a hill.
Sitting on a couch and still,
Finding nothing to keep me going,
In this life that I'm not knowing,
Where it leads or how it works,
With all it twists and all its quirks.
It seems a great big mystery.
I'm lost to what it has for me.
Each morning comes along with dew,
,more questions, that I find brand new.
What's done each day, that is life.
Choice cuts in deeper than my knife.
The way it work seems unlikely and so very strange,
Things that seem so different, and yet they seem the same.
Im told I have to live it in order to find out.
Sitting here this morning I'm all filled with doubt.
Sitting on a couch and still,
Finding nothing to keep me going,
In this life that I'm not knowing,
Where it leads or how it works,
With all it twists and all its quirks.
It seems a great big mystery.
I'm lost to what it has for me.
Each morning comes along with dew,
,more questions, that I find brand new.
What's done each day, that is life.
Choice cuts in deeper than my knife.
The way it work seems unlikely and so very strange,
Things that seem so different, and yet they seem the same.
Im told I have to live it in order to find out.
Sitting here this morning I'm all filled with doubt.
This Poems Story
I wrote it in my living room. In a house on a hill. I was about 19.
Delete Comment
User:
Comment: