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Rated: · Poetry · Death · #1670635
I’m not sure I like this poem myself, It sounds so depressed!
My life is put on hold awhile
Shadows and dreams remain,
And oft I tred the weary miles
Numb to stinging pain.

The years go by upon the dial
The moon’s upon the wane,
And all the while, and all the while
Days are bringing rain.

And all the while mad beguile
In my heart has lain.
When will it end? A knife, a file,
Leaving, dark, a stain.
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