Everyone is given a single life.
Many choose to be laggard,
A few outlast to be a wizard.
Abberating to a painful life,
Of sticklers who have gales
Of thoughts in their minds,
Some become audacit, some become bale.
A frantic scream, scattering despotic thoughts,
Exonerating myself from their impudence.
This world is neither good nor evil,
every person manufactures a world for himself.
P.S.: This is first poem i've ever written. Apologies for any mistake or ambiguos conclusion/meaning.
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