Boxes
Boxes of thoughts are looted by the public,
I am one who abstains from pleasure and am a workaholic.
Illness may be soap for the wild and perfect,
But thoughts can be candles, I just do think it.
Joy is from the volcanic thought, a mountain has erupted,
And too soon the philosophy of mine is concocted.
Open the brain of a man in prison, his needs are met,
His mind is really upset, it seemed to glare and be in debt.
From him came my salary of a thinker and a scholar,
Of a medic and a fighter, the very same as a father.
poem by Naveed Akram
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
