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A Make Believe Paradise
Living on the edge of financial disaster.
From the depth of my soul screams of poverty.
So scared of what the future might hold.
Walking down a street trying to pass my self off as a business man in ragged cloths.
Writing down my stories on napkins like a famous author you may know.
Living in the woods, trespassing on others claims to land.
Watching out for someone who might have a gun in hand.
Seeing right front me a posted tree.
Keep out or face the consequences.
Vagrants are never welcome.
Using everything I know to survive when money can no longer be made.
Building a camp fire to stay warm under a bridge.
Only when the river is down or I might drown.
How many times can I be knocked down?
How many times must I go through this?
Before something of a true and steady calling is found.
Lay off after lay off, encircle haunt and taunt me.
A jack of all trades.
A master of none.
A pleasure of working for fun.
From digging hands in the earth, to cutting some wood with a chainsaw.
Even the crows are cawing at my future.
They hope I will die.
Take everything away from a man and what does he got left.
A basic instinct.
Primal to the time of 18th century.
On foot I have always traveled, and once again I might be forced do so.
When the rent backs up and the electric keeps running.
Will the unemployment be enough.
How will I put food on my table when I lose my place in which I live.
I pray whole heartedly my side job succeeds.
With almost no money to put into it.
And customers expecting to be fronted the fix.
Quite a predicament, so apparent I can feel myself going ghostly white in a make believe paradise.
poem
by
Ace Of Black Hearts
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