Poetry

In life people play their own kind of games
call each other dear or some hurting names
and the world to its very final end
is in a way that no one can ever mend.

We live, work and sometimes joyfully play
right through the year each and every day
and secretively our own lives do bend,
is in a way that no one can ever mend.

Still we want to be honest and quite true
in all the small things that we daily do
but self centred are the time we do spend;
is in a way that no one can ever mend.