The Clouded Window of Time
Why, does existing have to be
burdensome. My mortal thoughts flee
like rain drumming at my window,
then trickles releasing a dam
leaving me brittle to exam
my own conscious; what do I know.
Surpassing life hopes as I winch
loneliness devours inch by inch.
My lips quake and swell at my low
detaching my dying cinder.
I can't take another winter
confronted with the ebb and flow,
not being able to foresee
mental skills decline as I grow
old and suppose to comfort me.
6/12/2018
Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2018
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