Cure

A painful course of life each day
Will take your gods and demons 'way
The more it hurts the better health
And did I mention, no more wealth
Give up belongings, stop the booze
Drop the smoking, all you choose
Just have no vices, pleasures none
Then those terrors will be gone
Take all that critics have to offer
Give away your one last coffer
Work 'til your fingers bleed and ache
And for that toil no wages take
Work harder, faster 'til you drop
And even then don't think to stop
At last you might fall into bed
What use is sleep now that you're dead
At least your thoughts will then be pure
And you'll have found a perfect cure


©2004 Paperbag Writer

Deep write, I enjoyed this. The message made clear, and written in good format.

Safe journey
Aiyana

Thanks Aiyana

It was me!

Hey Hey

Such aggression and mystery...very interesting. I like the format of the poem, once you start reading it, you don't want to stop till you find out the cure.

Perfect. Another favorite! Yay! Great work, here!

~Much Love~
Megan

Many thanks for taking the time to read and such nice comments.

Hey Hey

All I saw in this :

work, work, work, die. cure


Am I reading this wrongly ?

Or is the cure to life to die with a clear conscience, a healthy pancreas, kidney's and lungs ?


Doesn't take anything away from the brilliance of the poem.

-J-

Dear Jay

Life is hard and then you die! (Clear conscience or not)

Actually, this was the second poem of a twin set. The other was called "Contagious".

Thanks or reading J.

Hey Hey