ORPHANED.

My mother and father are sleeping

In a graveyard by the way,

Here am I like a lonely little horse,

With no-one to talk to, no-one to play,

      And so I graze, 

      in meadows far from home,

Cultural fields I roam,

As years slip from my grasp, And winds howl, 'go venture more roads'

      The wand of life's mysterious maze.

Doors close,

Windows open,

Windows close infusing woe,

Who knows, where I shall be taken, where I'll end up

In this world's contemptuous repose.

Temptations of glamour hanker my whims,

Ambitious ideals taunt with seductive smells,

The ego's blown about, being influenced by whatever's current in whatever sells,

I've fallen victim.

Coaxed continuously into chasing the sounds of  success's knell,

Without care to the cost of pride for celebrity, recognition, fame and riches

It's subtle presence keep's clanging like a worn out bell,

The crutch: for mother to never settle for meagre wishes,

And at the end of all this, what have we to gain?

What purpose is life that blows between joy and pain

        As it taps mind plays with a kiss.

The crutch has been taken,

My goals have been shaken,

Dormant lies more talent behind my soft shell,

Here to come forth, before my death, 

But then whom would I have helped?