Tired eyes are not lazy, they have just seen too much,
Some old mans' wisdom could tell you such.
The cup's half full but it shakes in my grasp,
if this soul could talk it would talk with a rasp.
Maybe it is my mind that has been littered by troubled thoughts,
so troubled that all inspiration starts to slowly rot.
Tired eyes stuck on a young face,
young, but not to young to figure out the glitch in the human race.
The pain digs deeper when it is fueled by more knowledge,
something that cannot be taught in the most prestige college.
Young, and wondering if one day life will slowly reveal clues,
of why it is so hard walking in these shoes.
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