My father is a beast,
His heart is a den of wickedness,
How i wish he had never lived.
He owned million hectares of lands,
He built numberless block of houses,
But yet he willed me a small junk farm.
Now how am i supposed to live?
Owning just a wretched small farm,
Indeed, my father is a beast.
A decade later
Maybe my father was right,
Maybe i need to be a farmer,
spending my life on this small junk farm.
Because i have surfed the world at large,
I have traveled the whole of cities,
Yet, all i bring back is an empty bag.
Let me bury my pride in the soil,
and hold my hoes to do heavy toils
Who knows, i might one day be rich.
A year later
So life can be this sweet for me,
Had i known my father's wealth were buried on this junk farm,
I wouldn't have wasted 10 years wandering.
Had i not nuture immature greed,
Had i believe in the love my father have for me
I would have been this rich a decade ago.
So this is what life is,
hardwork with patience is all we need,
just as i am now ten folds richer than my father.
Written by Micheal Ace
A poem published under #magicalpoetry and #ACEworld
Copyright of ACEworld.