In this life I live of trouble and woe,
virtually impossible to function
under the extreme pressure and sorrow.
In this life I live I am a prisoner,
denied,restricted and tethered.
The cold harsh sands of time
scour against my skin, age me, I am weathered.
In this life I live,
mine is but an abstract coil, bitterly twisted,
out of alignment, gone ascue.
Each passing moon, comes too soon,
then the sun that burns and blisters as I toil.
I long for finality, an eternal conclusion.
In this life I live, utterly unwanted,
endlessly drowning in its turbulant seas.
Magnificent sun,giver of life,
rise no more,
so I may be at ease.
Copyright © Jenny brewer