My tears barely start before a chill settles.
My heart turns stony,
And my thoughts whine of folly,
While my eyes set their melancholic glare.
“No, there is no god here.”
“There is no hope for me.” I say and stare
” I pray yet spy the “Charyoutree.”
I grumble and whimper,
I brood and shiver,
In fear I call forth anxiety.
When it comes I stumble, I let it lead
And live as I hate; as a mess in place,
Waiting for mistakes i left to be corrected,
Waiting for old lovers to see the light.
Waiting for my path to light flames of glory
Leading the way to victory.
But no child,
They won’t change their minds.
You can’t change the past.
There is no hope here.
No, there is no hope for me.
My angst is leading,
It’s come forth as a gent,
As me, akin to roses; A good fella of love.
A reflex that is necessary,
Like a prostate, he’s letting piss pass.
But the tears; they halt as they come,
Barely threading ground.
I have forgotten the taste of my tears.