Restrain

Hanging, swaying, struggling
Hung up high, yet not touching the sky
The broken string caught
A gust of wind mocks
Desires burning

Wishing to be a part of the sky
Yet like a strong firm arm
The thick branches held onto it
Will it ever soar?

Longing for the sky
Stranded up yet not high
Sulking, dangling
Swaying upon every breath of the wind
Whispering softly a gentle reminder
Called dream




To Self: i'm really getting poetic these days. k fine i noe i write trashy poems but a yr back who would even thot of writing poems. life is never fair. perhaps that's y the greatest thinkers all end up in the asylum. The more you ponder the more demoralised you get. It's always so hard to trust. So easy to lament. Even job does. Hoping for it to end. Hoping that I won't join in the rank as those thinkers before i see the end

"Success is speaking words of praise.
In cheering other people's ways
In doing just the best you can
With every task and every plan
It's silence when you speech would hurt
Politeness when your neighbour's curt
It's deafness when the scandal flows
And sympathy with others' woes
It's loyalty when duty calls
It's courage when disaster falls
It's found in laughter and in song
It's in the silent time of prayer
In happiness and in despair
In all of life and nothing less
We find the thing we call success." (Anon)