Author Information
Potential
Folder:
Old Wasted potential
Squandered and sold.
Solace is Hunger.
Hunger is Gold.
Gold is a prize
Holding no worth
Only in my eyes
Will I know this Earth.
This barren belief
Of what could have been
Is tangled with bias
Intrinsic in sin.
Po - ten - ti - a - li - ty
Loiters and keeps
Ways from reality
Distant and deep.
Here is my Prize:
What wept from my eyes
Is truth at its core.
Who else could devise
A vision so sore?
