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Hard, Rough Seas

Everything is nothing,
Don't want to waste more days,
When you try to be so hot,
In a cold, confusing maze.
There's no such thing as perfect,
It's a phrase I know by now,
I want things to go right,
And I'm always asking how.
It's either down and out,
Or maybe up and in,
I know this is a race,
A race that I can win.
The ill fated boat,
That drifts on the hard, rough seas,
The sails still keep on working,
Which helps in guiding me.
The world moves ‘round,
With no direction.
Through space,
When the bright sun burns out,
We won't live in this place.

©1999-2019 Steve Bujanow

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