Poem: Stream

Hard work is the one thing I have.

It is the one thing that I can give.

The one thing that has made me grow.

It is also the one thing that makes me wonder.

Where is my life going, is this all I have to offer?

I can not see an out from this disaster.

There is no me in this world that I can see.

My life is not complete, and it never will.

The will to thrive is not in my blood stream.

My sense of being I can no longer see.

I am just a vessel that is moving through the blood stream.

I have no direction almost like my heart.

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