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Coming to Terms

What of the tears, the cold, the gloom,
Amongst the ears of a silent room.
I sat alone, I wrote, I pondered,
How my life had so far wandered.
So off track, errant, upended--
No fruit in the garden that I’ve tended.
Depressed, a mess, seldom fed--
The crown of thorns is on my head.
Beneath the tears, a calm, a bliss.
I am not afraid of the abyss.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2014

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Date: 12/4/2014 4:15:00 AM
Well penned Kurdt, So many emotional feeling in this piece. Good luck Kevin
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