They say it’s real, they say it’s bright,
a land of gold, a place of light.
A kingdom high where angels sing,
but tell me, what does heaven bring?
Is it joy? Is it bliss?
A perfect world where nothing’s missed?
Or is it safety, soft and small,
a gilded box, a padded wall?
No hunger, pain, no tears to shed,
no restless nights, no fear, no dread.
But what is life without the fight,
without the fire, without the bite?
If struggle’s gone, then so is will,
desire fades when time stands still.
For every wish, a wish comes true,
but tell me then, what’s left to do?
No mountains left for me to climb,
no grand design, no race with time.
A stagnant dream, a hollow prize,
a heaven built on dulled-out skies.
They call it paradise, how quaint.
A world of saints with no complaint.
But tell me this, if all is right,
then where’s the thrill of wrong and right?
No book can bind me, words won’t do,
I’d trade their bliss for something true.
Give me struggle, give me strife,
I’ll choose the pain,
I’ll choose the life.
ImpChimp Art 
Just a note on what initially drew me. The iambic tetrameter of a Storyteller. Its’s a very effective beat that most ballads and oral stories use and it absolutely works with the narrative you are painting in its structure. Well done, wordsmith.
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Thank you ❤
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