To Be Tired

A short poem composed on a cold, wet day after a supervising a boring lab session.

To be tired, so tired no one knows,

when the heat seems oppressive,

and the cold seeps into your bones.

To be afraid of the fear of leaving alone,

when the days flit like sparrows,

and the nights have no homes.

To be traveled on roads seeking only to roam,

when the music turns to stone,

and the silence tarnishes gold.

Author's Note

The last stanza feels weak, suggestions?

Reviews

[Frontier]

It's not weak I think its just that all the last words in the lines rhyme and it feels "incomplete" but anyways "nights have no home"- nice line.

[deeps]

and the silence turns to gold

I dk just a thought
I like this it is very well written.
I could easily add more thought into this one.
This is amazing!