If you get push toward a small puddle.
You can wail your arms and jump, trying to falling it.
If you get a bit wet... just run like Hell.
It will dry quickly.
If you happened to stand too close to a big puddle and get pushed.
You have no choice but, to fall in.
Getting stuck in the muck.
It can slow you down, mat your clothes, and cover your eyes.
Once you reach the edge, you look like a Zombie scratching for life.
Eventually... that muck will dry and fade, with the paths you change.
While... "The Puddles of Life" will stay the same.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem