and how many times will you tell me that <br />once, in your pocket poetry <br />once, you read it when you were so drunk <br />unable to take the right step <br />and say the right syllabication of your words <br />tipsy, you fall all alone by yourself <br />while i watch you <br />telling myself that this is another kind of life <br />wasted <br /> <br />then you are telling me again this time <br />when we are together going to the fields <br />of our own wars <br />as we hold our guns and read the maps <br />and trail the ways of the forest <br /> <br />life is what you make it <br />there seems to be an error somewhere <br /> <br />life is what we make it brother <br />we work as a team, a community, a nation, a country <br />a wall stronger than just anyone of us <br /> <br />we shall make it <br />we shall keep this struggle <br />as a nation, not just anyone of us, tipsy and drunk and hopeless <br />and falling alone <br />with the mere whisper of the wind, the whimper of the common enemy<br /><br />RIC S. BASTASA<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/life-is-what-we-make-it-you-are-saying-that-again/
