It scares me
the KNOWING of my mortality,
the UNDERSTANDING of nothing
the FEELING of empty.
Ironic how trials in life
inflict inpiration
where serenity does not.
Joy leaves no room for rhyme
forsaking time for life all around.
Sorrow stretches time so long
and leaves room to wonder
on how much is taken for granted
until there is no more left to take.
Words pour more from a wounded soul
on the grief and toil one could endure
and suffer no more.
As if to write could make it right.
One is left ot wonder...
Will I sleep tonight?
Posts
The Essence of Masculinity
13 years ago
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