Time is money,
I am poor,
my time has gone,
out through the window.
It goes to school,
it goes to knowledge,
it goes to serving,
but never for loving.
It goes to books,
it goes to writing,
it goes to solving,
but never to playing.
I wish it could go
to many other things,
to things I want,
to things I want to need.
To go to music,
each and every day,
to play my heart out,
in several different ways.
To go to reading,
various fun books,
to go to crying,
for all the happy-sad nooks.
To go to singing,
a happy little tune,
to go to expressing,
this feelings inside.
To go to drawing,
a hobby of mine,
to go to telling
a story, unwind.
But, alas, I am poor,
and time is money.
It is all spent away
on things that will stay.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
PoetryJust some rants by me. Maybe I'll publish my sucky old ones, maybe I won't. You'll never know.
