The Weary Spirit

Year poem was written: 2013

      Age has left it's marks,

         not in time but in loss.

      Sorrow is a black poison,

         as common as water.

 

      The night of a drunk dulls the pain,

         but never strips it.

      For it clings tightly to the soul's flesh,

         consuming all hope and love.

 

      Sweet faces of a lover's past,

         fades away in the dust.

      Dark anguish closes in all around,

         creating cell bars of death.

 

      Madness breaks the barriers of endurance,

         destroying all lucidity.

      Changing this elegant knight of charm,

         into a weary spirit of grief.