Portions Poem by Green Leaf

A cup of good hope, a full spoon of patience,
Some drops of my anger and a chunk of good luck.
I brew these together and form a life line.

When faced with a slope I sometimes require a cup of good hope.
Instead of some hope I sometimes am given a string or a rope.
The rope might be hope.
I hang on the rope and slide down the slope.

While sliding the rope,
I swallow and choke from a full spoon of patience.
However too often there’s absence of patience.
Like a perfume that’s lost all of its fragrance.

There goes my patience, gone in an instance,
Replaced now with anger, an aly in danger.
I feel like a match that burns bright at first,
Consumed fast by anger that fuels my thirst.
However all anger ends fast and abrupt,
Like no match will last, it burns way too fast.
I slide down the rope go down with a blast
Look up in the past and know I’m outcast.

There is no retreat the slope is too deep.
I am now afraid I might fall asleep.
But that’s when I fall, on a chunk of good luck,
Precisely in time like a faithful old clock.
I’m greatfull to say I made the first knock,
To a door that was locked,
Like a cave sealed by rocks,
Opened up with a shock.