Lucky, Was I?, Independent Poem by Megha

Luck never had meaning in his life, 
Either it was trouble or a disguise.
Life always played a different dice,
Which only meant, to lose or to cry.

Every move you made,
Every step you put forth,
Was always a failure,
Was always a topic to cry.

One day he came with a mission,
A mission to glorify.
He worked hard, harder to achieve,
But the lucky move made a decieve.

His every action worked fine,
His every deed was close to divine.
But why, why he cried?
It was me who left to cry.

He asked the one he prayed,
Am I here to suffer or just be slayed?
Am I the only one left with suicide?
Ever Lucky,  Was I?