I wish I could play, but
I did that yesterday.
My dreams are no longer here.
Reality has come, holding hands with fear.
What is to come, if I continue to play.
With no regards to what I do today.
Life is no clown, shaping balloons.
She is a reaper, who often comes too soon.
What I do now, may not be too much,
but it should be better than tricks, and games and such.
Life is being built, if I just lay one brick
Let my dance with Death be my final trick.