poetry & things


Cold clench of angst, these sorrowful days await

what of love, its lessons gold or cruel

our flower laden bed, of stone now lies dead

clouds and clouds of my blues, no winging bird

or musical tune, slow the silent hours burn

languid days creep ever nightward

into black, starless, bleak

bruised and weak, my heart to mend

my mind grapples, reaches

for an end

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