Odds and Evens | Poetry


Things that those will ever say,
Can’t possibly said in another way,
A new life of such disorder,

Like to fill with a pinch of abnormal,
In this realm of odds and evens,
Plenty of ones would become a demon,
And yet they chose to stay,
An odds and evens another day,

Filling up a world so small,
For odds and evens,
It’s their call,
To the day that they were born,
Beaten up with fear and scorn,

And in this world of such dread,
Odds and evens were a red,
Many resents of those whom wrong,
Abandoned all for a perfect song,

Driven through a hungered dream,
To be loved and one who gleam,
Yet odds and evens eccentric much,

Are an outcast to the bunch?
For the crack between a mountain’s heart,
Is divided in two, separated them apart,

Odds and evens most will rue,
Will become the impossible,
Whichever they would do,

These odds and evens aren’t a curse,
They are unique, no matter the worse.

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