With great pleasure a dog dug a grave
It snuffed out not treasures but a rage
Coming from dried bones of rock age.
Lamenting on how they had all failed
Cutting across, mirrors, lenses and led
Refracting the light, visions they bend.
No silver spoon but unfavorable genes
Coming deep from tall ancestral trees
Posthumous clear, regrets never cease
Life gave guns as toys, they sort for lucks
From drugs and scam in school of hard knocks
And as the twig bends, they planted on rocks.
Lack of persistence got them no win
No self discipline they were never clean
Not through self efforts, they gained power from bins
In all their positions, intemperance;
Procrastination, were their best friends
Until it lured them to undesirable ends.
Many an old man, has past they wish to rewind
Where they built glass castles on empty cloud
Throwing stones, hitting floors regretfully loud
Remember time ticks fast, it isn’t yours to own
And the living body you wear is but only a loan
For the old man failure stays with him to bone.
e-Paper Poetry of Vinx 
Sweet counsel expressed in vivid imageries. 👌
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you
LikeLiked by 1 person