I wake up at sunup,
To dash to school each day,
To feed on books and drink ink,
I move east and west,
Or north and south,
With my arms at a scholarly angle,
Searching for the papers of tomorrow,
In which my fate is scribbled,
But the bitter truth I know,
Is that one day they'll lie,
Deep in the pit dank as a shore,
As I take a rest under the ground,
isn't this funny?
I rage war on men today,
Who display their interest in her,
For I believe to own her heart,
But the stinging fact I may not take,
Is that tomorrow she'll be on the aisle,
Under the veil in another man's face,
Both taking the vows of life,
To live in war and peace,
And to walk through valleys and mountains,
As I do the same to unknown,
Isn't this a play?
I live in the shadow of work,
Without any minute to spare,
For a drink or a bite,
With family or friends,
As my ambition is very stoor,
But the reality I may not recognize,
Is that tomorrow may never come,
For me to fulfill the dream,
Of walking on top of the world with her,
But rather sleep deep under its surface,
While life continues with its pace,
As though nothing has happened,
Isn't this a joke?
Life is a game to play and enjoy,
Or rather a joke to laugh at,
For all we treasure are smoke,
And clouds that vanish into the firmament,
Shouldn't we joke a bit?
©chris
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