All the words that I create,
To substantiate the years of hate,
That dwell within my blackened heart,
of my own making right from the start.
Oh why did I never stop to ponder,
This ceaseless tide that drags me under.
Pulled back and forth my emotions fly,
And I'm left asking why why why.
So here I sit in the final throes
Of turmoil dread and solemn woes.
Perhaps I'll find my peace at last,
But I should of been more brave and asked,
For help that I may of received,
Of those that loved me who've cried and grieved.
-
Author:
Richard--Castle Donington (
Offline) - Published: September 27th, 2018 09:49
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 13
- Users favorite of this poem: Noah
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