Poetry: SOME DAYS

Some days
life feels like a
treadmill
when all we really seek
is a garden path
Some days
the prizes of our
dreams
seem locked inside a
stone pinata
when all we really seek is
a giant
pot of gold
a mirage
when all we really seek
is
a well
Some days
I sympathize with the
suicidal
hear the strangled cry
of the
hopeless
and taste the bitter
rage
of the frustated
Yet
I persist
in hopes and
dreams and
endeavours
for
Some day
the amassed
fuel of
determination
wil; be struck by
opportunity's
hot
fleeting
spark
and propel me to that
cosmicdestiny
to luxuriate
in a kinder
more insouciant
fate