Untitled Poem by Chaarzarul Rockett

Onward, up, and down again.
playing a game that none can win.
Strike the hammer, And feed the flame,
Brush the feather to sign my name.

Life goes by so cold and bare,
We fill it with warmth and possessions rare.
Giving to God in hopes of cure,
What we get in return, no one is sure.

Woman so fine, beauty so deep,
Promising life and worryless sleep.
But, you don't look and others could none,
tire a man like the rising sun.