Life Is Able Poem by Alafe Ramat

Maybe the clown is dead, but it ghost is evidently not made to rest, such is the pace of life that meet yet our plight across, it is such a strange embrace that integrate into a fleece, curtained close around our touch of cease, not letting go, not falling cold, how life can be, it changes overnight, the road of life is one way, going back in time flare up bush fires, toward memories that is left for us to keep, with the dawn we might have to tell a goodbye, it hurt so bad that you can't spell it out without tears, to trust our own instinct is a quality that we never seems to lack, yet on the pounds of the world we cursed all our blames, denying a foe within us, we have all got our own blisters to crave, alive in the glow of the placid light of life, but without mending fences with the past, atimes it is a dark drive into the future, all cats are grey in the dark, so it seems, but do we all not stand a cat hell's chance of seeing trough the dark? Setting right off like no other, the city is too beautiful to burn, neither the cloaking embrace of the night's offering would let a reason to why it should not, the loop road that coralled the dream land of man seems soaking the light out of the wanning moon, never to take a course ever right, secrets lives though paid dividends in thrills, with decades that wouldn't stand a chance to relief this burden off the history of time, life is able to alot of things that we could ever muster, and a reticent that always breed a new crust, close enough for us to feel, but never ever fair!