Lamenting Spirit

Seemingly standing alone, In the shadows of doubt and fear, Lost, cold, forgotten, Cold is the grasp of death that nears Seeking a hand in darkness of solitude, Wishing for nothing but a love, Turned away, cast aside, borne not even a stray, lone thought, Towering aloft, looked down upon from far above Throned so high overhead, just as kings of old, Glared down upon, a lowly tear forsaken so, Caught within a trap, drowning, mists of sorrow, A voice unheard, a voice deserted, only a voice in woe Wandering such great, forlorn paths, A derelict mind harshly beat, a mind that has since long been vacant, Rove, this neglected child does, One mind among so many, outcast, this dolor mind abeyant.