The wickedness of life
Comes with no cost,
Yet the price of picky
Can make us lost.
Picky can’t guide
Us to happiness we seek
As the life we were given
Did not come cheap.
I breathe air consumed
By the worst of faces
Who have no regard
For other spaces.
Surrounded by strangers
Latching to pain
Exhibiting angers
With no refrain.
But I can’t afford
A life of sorrow.
For I’ll be happy
To wake tomorrow.
IN YOUR DREAMS POETRY 