NowherePosted: January 17, 2012
An empty room full of furniture,
Is like a mind filled with failure.
Just as a life of torture,
Lacks lovers and leisure.
A day without contact with a stranger,
Is like a couch covered in leather.
Though comfortable it may seem,
It’s just like a familiar dream.
So in my existence I measure,
Not the hard days of labour.
But the aimlessness that life renders,
And the gift of free will at my surrender.
© Heath Muchena, 2012