Friend, Foe, or Lauded by Woe
Are we friends, foes, or is my imagination lauded by woe.
Only a few have been friends,
From one moment to only a short time, until it is by something that offends.
To the foes, I have had many.
Only by their minds, am I such with through their envy.
Perilous, in pondering,
Why they take such delight in making me feel like wandering,
Living a life of a temperate fool.
In such that it is for them to praise others creates such dismissive drool.
Foe or friends alike it them that create the derivative,
Looking to that day to prove themselves, in such fine words that are decorative.
How dispel many deep thoughts dreaded by woe.
The love of lauding within their hearts and minds they keep in stow.
For in a future moment, hour, or day.
They give it their all to allow me to be in such dismay.
That to reign in why I allow myself to even gathering any strength to have anything to say.
Thus I will remain silence,
With that life’s has given in concordance.
How the day that dreaded despair,
That even raise my voice no one is aware.
To derive to this one must overthink,
Not to dive into the bottle thus my mind wants to drink.
Friend, foe, or lauded by woe.
