A poem about plans not followed
Why is it we go into things with the best of intentions?
To try follow our dreams,
and yet never succeed?
What is the price we pay
for not reading that book,
researching that subject,
writing that last page,
doing that thing we always say,
“I’m going to do it!”
Letting the list grow and grow,
pile up higher than Mount Everest?
We allow those with the Devil’s silver tongue,
let them tell us, “No!
You shall never succeed!”
Why is it that even with the best of intentions,
we still listen?
With the best of intentions,
we make plans.
Plans that grow to a Mountain of Nothing,
a Mountain of Failures and Fallen Dreams.
Why is it then,
that we go into things,
with the best of intentions?