Tryouts

A worm, squirming under raging sun, Again and again, the mud squishes, Under the heel of my ambition- Do not think, just run. Thinking provides room for pain, Pain pushes all sanity away, Away from the thoughts of end of day, All away from thoughts of endless rain. Rain from the ice grey spout, Ice cold on my skin since the hot ran out, so my skin hurts a lot. But I don’t mind the end of drought. But after the rain the pain is still there. Not the pain of the body, but of mind- Well no- both pains- every kind. But the mind is the one for which I care. Did the sun, in its brightness, think that I shone? Me, little worm with glistening skin, Sweat dripping down my off-set chin, Or did the bird have a more cheerful tune? The sun’s only there to weed out the weak, But why must the weak be so strong? And why must the bird sing such a loud song? Why must I always be so meek? We both want the same thing, to live, But only one of us can stay. One lives, one dies, the world works that way. If only, if only there were more spots to give.