Yes, I lived, Oh!
On earth - the dark inferno.
Clouded by sins, the Earth.
On a rainy day my birth.

Imbecility: rife.
He didn't weave the web of life.
He is to leave that web.
He will, one day, ebb.

Nuttiness in excess;
He only sees
What a mirror lets him see.
But before truths, mirrors knee.

In it what's your stand?
You are mere a strand.
You die: Earth doesn't care.
It's, 'no more She wants to bare.'

Crown your life a purpose.
Like a silver strand, let it prosper.
And then, the Earth might care.
'Coz then, she loves your bare.

So, let me stop this here.
From my diary, let this tear.
Hnce,I might've a purpose for my life.
A poem, desiringly, sharp as knife.

Courtesy
AngelicaAntu (topic)
and
rainaangel (topic; title)