Played out
Spent, into debt
Almost on the verge
But, life itself is a cliché

Moon, sun stars glittery
Used abused by poets jittery
Extolled in paeans, words buttery
Relentlessly they still beat same beaten path

Out of box clever think
Some folks make me blink
What matters is the heart
If that be true, that’ll float, rest’ll sink

life itself is a cliche

with its revolving door
endlessly spewing sucking

in out expeditiously