Poetry Writer'sPoint

LIFE’S STRUGLES

The road to true success is labelled narrow.
I shoot myself out of problems like a piercing arrow.

Buried in miseries; resurrected from the grave.
Served frustration for so many years only revolt to no longer be a slave.

Told setbacks, you can’t catch me any more no matter how inviting you decorate your traps.
Disappointments and ill-luck can’t hurt me: they are total handicaps.

Isolation begs all day and all night to keep me company.
I was served hatred and rejection but I said I don’t need any.

Inferiority complex almost pushed me out of the stage.
I sniffed some dose of inspiration that enables me deliver my message.

I observed, a man’s big dreams can be swallowed by his poverty.
My brain is full of results. I just climbed the stage of puberty.

Unaccomplished dreams and desires have forgotten the road that runs to my house.
I smashed intimidation in my palms like a little louse.

I can no longer be caught by anxiety. She had a severe amputation.
Fortune and fame are covering all my mistakes in the past while I work all day to protect my reputation.

Havilah Harry

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