• Life
    By Morgan

    Life seems so cruel.
    Ruling with an iron fist.
    If you can follow the rule,
    You must get the jist.

    Life can make you hurt.
    Can take away your pain.
    Treat you like dirt,
    With little left to gain.

    The sorrows of this thing,
    Greatly outnumber its good.
    Like a bird's feathered wing,
    But instead made out of wood.

    Hope can stir this trait,
    Given to both good and bad.
    Patience can't always make you wait.
    Don't ever wish you had.

    Though, life does come,
    With a little thing called love.
    That is all I can hum,
    Waiting for that gentle dove.