Nothing Seems Wrong
Slow I wail on the road of no return
Like a soul that departs from its body with no respect
Silence I talk to get
To soothe the pain I didn’t prepare
In the jungle of no trees I sit
To prepare for my last breathe I take
Mother! Mother! I cry
Thunder storms that wawl
Slow I speak
but distance death drags me on
Help! Help! Help! I pull
But in the midst of no where I creep
My last respect they give
But silently I sit to weep
Very well they wish I match on
But poorly I know I live on
Mansions I suffer to build
But in the coffin I didn't prepare to live
Nothing will ever seem right
In this game of no fame
Copyright © Joseph Taylor | Year Posted 2016
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment