Through the end of our ever fleeting patience,
all that remains is our knock on death’s cold frightful door.
We spend our lives chasing lovers with unjust impatience,
never quite sure of who it really is our search is rightfully for.
The days of our lives are as flowers in the field,
only through their soil is life aptly produced.
Our words are as iron to our brother’s will to yield,
for by them, they are either emboldened or reduced.
The dreams of our lives are as stars in the sky,
beckoning us with their good and sweet call.
Yet when we chase after a star that fades,
we chase a star that will cause us to fall.
Thanks for Reading!
This is my first poem ever, go easy on me please : )