Is been a long way coming but one never seem to get there.
As the branches of the clock chased each other, the theme of minutes drawn from each time is not gained back like an alopecia who has loss of hair.
As one wake up to derive inspiration from the book of Mark, lashes of thoughts are received from the aroma of goodness in the air.
One walks into the ecosystem looking wild and unkept mostly and the masses sees him as one who doesn’t care.
The mirrored aspect of each day bring home a thought of being extinct from a well to do life.
The only acquaintances one has are the eyes to see, the legs to walk,mouth to shout, head and shoulders to carry and hands to pull,push,lift and drag all because in the adventure of struggling they are the only friends you can have.
The sweetness of life seems to be far away, for the solo feeling of sweetness occurs in between the hustle when sweat glands commences its racing of fluid swiftly with some part dripping unto the tongue and body.
The prognosis of it all is to witness Poverty’s A.D.
The annex of striving cuts its blade through all works of living.
Where everyone is trying hard to be a better brethren.
The sky is truly the limit but even with adequate preparation, gravity acts against our dreams.
As one yean the desire to acquire success, the weight of hardwork establish itself on ones arms.
And at the sight of the crooked paths of success one tends to catch fear of the thorns along its paths.
But with insistence one needs to tip toe through to the very end because perseverance conquers all.
Written by Kwame Dunamis
Dunamisthewriter 
hustle y3
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