Clumsily limping now
along washed-out pale beach strewn
with the bones of now futile hopes
and unrealistic dreams.
Plans so carefully planned out and mapped
now mock in skeletal silence.
Even the sand seems sad.
Where is the so-called solace of time?
Where is the worth in persevering?
When can the hurt be felt to subside
while the cruelty of loneliness rules?