Prosiest of Prose
Prosy prose the most prosiest of prose..
Oh.. I have one.
Life is prose.
Waking up everyday. Thinking things are changing.
Going back at home everyday. At the end of day. Nothing ever do change.
Dusky bluest of prose.
Does life expect something of us? Or do we owe it to life to expect more?
Now. Does prose have to rhyme?
If it do.. I failed miserably.