Poetic Tragedy

The cup is not half empty as pescimists say
As far as he’s sees nothings left in the cup
A whole cup full of nothing for him to induldge
Since the voice of ambition has long since been shut up A singer, a writer, he’s not dreaming now of going nowhere
He gave heed to nothing, and all that he was…
Is just a tragedy
So he voyages in circles
Succeeds getting nowhere
And submits to the substance
That first got him there
Than in violent, frustration he cries out to God or just no one
Is there a point to this madness and all that he was…
Is just a tragedy
He feels alone
His heart in his hand
He’s alone
He feels alone
I feel…
Then on that last day he breaks
And he stood tall