Writing Every Which Way

Novels, poems, and writing tips



Enduring the daily chore

Just got worse.

This day I curse

Because my patience for it is poor.

To be forced to love,

To be forced  to attend,

These people are like a hall with no end,

And a door closed with a shove.

Yet somehow the gathering will pass,

I will survive every Sunday’s Mass.

This family I cannot hate

No more than the food I ate.

They are my obligation

Because I was their creation.


Author: Madi Uram

I'm just another young writer hoping to get noticed in the world of publication. The majority of my time is put into writing novels, but I'm no stranger to journalism, playwriting, and critical essay's, too. I'm also the author of "The Little Paragons" which can be found on Amazon.com.

2 thoughts on “Survival

  1. Solemn, forlorn, and moving. I appreciate the somber tone of your poem!

    Liked by 1 person

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