Cursed Immortality

Maybe being immortal is a curse,

life is supposed to be short.

To see this world as a shortfall verse,

To give and take with a cruel snort.

.

Maybe being immortal is a curse.,

To watch loved one die.

Till no one else but you remain.

Not a person to talk to ,nor to spry

.

Maybe being immortal is a curse,

With weak bones and dimming sight.

Fragile & brittle with an empty purse,

Cracking bones and sick delight.

.

Maybe being immortal is a curse,

& maybe the great ones figured it out

& maybe they left a trail to us

To follow it without a doubt.

.

They found a way to immortality.

& they still live on , while being dead.

Just a matter of figuring it out.

To lie beside them,

To be immortal then.

Prisoners

This is a place of struggle and fears,
& everyone has those truths and tears.
Here people are crushed by the powerful Soo nice ,
But in the end who wins is rather wise.
.
In this place they get poorer or richer,
Hopeless foolish poor, and the Lynching Rich butchers.
But in the end everyone’s to demise,
But most are prisoners of their own device.
.
You will fail, everyone does.
The critics are flies, they will buzz
Sooner will you hear you own million cries
But don’t you care, fix your eyes on the prize
.
Things will be hard, the hardest stuff.
It it would be easy, you won’t be tough.
And if you fail, just stand up and Revice
And one day, you will, you must rise

Don’t quit

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,
When the road you’re trudging seems all uphill,
When funds are low and the debts are high,
And you want to smile but you have to sigh,
When care is pressing you down a bit,
Rest if you must, but don’t you quit.

Life is queer with its twists and turns,
As every one of us sometimes learns,
And many a failure turns about,
When he might have won if he’d stuck it out.
Don’t give up, though the pace seems slow –
You may succeed with another blow.

Often the struggler has given up
When he might have captured the victor’s cup,
And he learned too late, when the night slipped down,
How close he was to the golden crown.

Success is failure turned inside out –
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt,
And you never can tell how close you are –
It may be near when it seems afar;
So stick to the fight when you’re hardest hit –
It’s when things seem worst that you mustn’t quit.

Inspiration week day 3.

Above is a famous poem by Edgar Guest

His World

Alone he stood, with a friend’s disguise
& For her was he willing to die
But she twisted him with scampish lies
While he concealed his sigh.||
But death wont touch him soon
Because he was no scamming prick
Righteous for the love and fortune
He had love no trick.||
And she payed every single sin she did
And all the prizes he won
Her beauty then worth a quid
With all her winnings scorned.||
And there he stood with all the cause.
And all success he whorled.
With a new life a new love.
His was the world.||

Don’t you see??

Don’t you believe me ?

I’m way down that that road.

I know what it’s too loose .

The people of your abode.

.

Don’t you believe me ?

I’m way down that street.

soon becoming the person.

Of our own disbelief.

.

Don’t you believe me ?

I’m way down that path.

Don’t you see me hurt,

Right in the heart.

.

Don’t you see my skin,

Painted to hide the scars.

Can’t you see my broken heart,

And the daily battled wars.

.

Do my emotions mean to you.

Does my hopeless scatter.

Do you mind !!!

Or it just doesn’t matter.

.

The Man Who Thinks He Can

If you think you are beaten, you are:
If you think you dare not, you don’t.
If you’d like to win, but you think you can’t,
It is almost certain – you won’t.

If you think you’ll lose, you’ve lost;
For out in this world we find
Success begins with a fellow’s will
It’s all in the state of mind.

If you think you’re outclassed, you are;
You’ve got to think high to rise.
You’ve got to be sure of yourself before
You can ever win the prize.

Life’s battles don’t always go
To the stronger or faster man;
But sooner or later the man who wins
Is the one who thinks he can!

Thy Shall

Thy shall run, 

Where others stop.

Thy shall run, 

Where they fear to walk

Thy shall run,

Where others retire to dross.

Thy shall run,

Where they fear to cross.

Thy Shall pray, 

Where others moan. 

Thy shall pray, 

While others groan.

Thy shall help,

When there is a need. 

Thy shall help,   

While others feed greed.                                               

Fake Mediocre Love is the another poem i wrote in old english do visit it

hey guys do comment below                                                                                                 and visit my site  Dead Poets Society