Rock, Hard-Place

I would rather be left alone, For no Love hath sprout, nor hither grown From a crumbled Heart, once hard as stone What shall I reap from these seeds I've sown? From these hounds I cannot escape, And I've not been hopeful, not as of late The Truth will come, but I must wait For the Will of God or Force of Fate *This piece is very trite and encompasses most of my usual cliche's. Not really sure why I am posting it; I suppose I hope someone can relate. If you've read my other pieces, this one is really no different. I fear I am getting monotonous.