The days of bards are now long past, and yet, we struggle on, for it's our task to chronicle, just where we all went wrong, the torment and the struggle and the pain is where we dwell, in this sullen craft, each one of us, must pass through our own hell, and yet, we would not change it, for a life mundane with peace, even though the great among us, tend to die, poor, alone, and hungry in the streets, for you see it is a calling, an escape unto ones' self, our worth is measured not with gold, but rather, our souls wealth...Birth sign: Leo
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by Bedwyr Mclean.