Write Or Die Poem by John Yaws

The things I once called freedom,
Were folly I now find.
What seemed a passing fancy,
Now weighs heavy on my mind.

Promises I made and broke-
The vows I never kept-
All vanished like a wisp of smoke-
While I, unheeding, slept.

The love I saw within your eyes-
Has long ago grown dim.
And sadly, you, who once were mine...
Are happy now with him.

The thick, dark hair of youth I find-
Has now grown thin and grey,
The hope, so much a part of me-
I find has gone away.

I ask myself each poem I pen
Why do I even try?
The only answer I have found-
Is either write... or die.