What the world may think of me,
it matters not one bit.
Whether chained, enslaved or free
my life is as I see it.
What I do for good or ill,
it matters not one bit.
Nothing I do of my own will,
only what my genes permit.
How high I seem to climb,
it matters not one bit.
All things come in good time
to those who never quit.
How many small ambitions I have achieved,
it matters not one bit.
My brain is tricked and deceived
to think as I see fit.
And if our lives fell short,
it matters not one bit.
No one is a different sort.
to death we all submit.
*Painting “A Boor Asleep” by Adriaen Brouwer.
Love love love this!! 😊
Reblogged this on Shareable Snippets.
This poem had me thinking of writers of the past – it had the meter of classic poetry. Great job!
That’s very kind of you to say so. Thanks. Always appreciate any feedback.