Tis of thee

Apparently when I get bored I make 7 posts in a day.

Anyways here goes nothing.

Old poem:

THE DESPERATE AND THE DUMB,

THE OBNOXIOUS AND THE SAD,

THEY THINK THEY HAVE NO HOPE

WHEN IT'S TRULY ALL THEY HAVE.

THE DEPRESSED CLAIM THERE IS NONE LEFT,

AND THATS WHY THEY FEEL THE WAY THEY DO

BUT EVERY SECOND THEY MOVE ON

IT'S HOPE THAT MAKES THE MOUNTAINS MOVE

SUICIDAL THOUGHTS PASS THROUGH YOUR MIND,

BUT ON THEM YOU WILL NEVER ACT,

FOR IT'S HOPE THAT DRIVES YOU TO TOMORROW,

'TILL THOSE THOUGHTS COME BACK.

SO WHEN YOU THOUGHT ALL HOPE WAS LOST,

AND DESTINY WAS DECIDED,

HOPE WILL COME PLACE YOU WITH LOVE AND CHARITY

'TIS WHERE YOU'LL SIT BESIDE THEM

Newish poem:

We're called the Human Race,

Desperate looks upon their face,

can't stand to be in this place,

thought to be salvation, 

Now no one can see, 

all they think about is 'me'

once the land of the free

now home of desperation.