The Empty Days
To drink from the chalice of loneliness
filled with my passion's pain
taken from the crooked hand of age
clenched by the years of love's soul
its wormwood draught is less bile that stains
to let spill and wash the earthen floor of time
where my heart now lives
in its dim-lit realm of shades
where shadows cloak the darkness
and tomorrows fade away
I'll gouge out the grieving globes
that is my eyes...so I may only hear
my rambling rumblings of rumination
of why you died
3/2/18
Copyright © Frederic Parker | Year Posted 2018
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