Tony Adah

The Laurels Of Man - Poem by Tony Adah

The laurels that man procures
Are but petals of an aging rose
He sweats morning and evening
Winning gold or silver or bronze
Though some may win wood unpronounced
To the same shallow home
They crawl sickly or senescent with age
And they lie here
Laurels unseen
With their eyes closed
And ego punctured in the end.

Topic(s) of this poem: fate

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Poem Submitted: Sunday, September 20, 2015

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