Untitled 2
A letter poorly written,
Scribbled in despair.
Wording misplaced,
Not even a care.
It sums up the worry,
It sums up the sorrow.
It details the look,
That he had of tomorrow.
A pain that crept,
Through every ounce of his being.
Hopeless he wept,
At a punishment so freeing.
This isn’t a cry for help,
This isn’t what was planned.
Though roads became hazards,
He knew where to stand.
But the world knew better,
And the earthquake shook his core.
It took him away,
His bleeding heart tore.
Sitting alone,
He contemplates the change.
Sitting alone,
A mind trapped in derange.
He’s now alone,
Mind overthinking to the end.
There is no home,
Except only where the God will send.
He is no longer worried,
He is no longer afraid.
The future is behind him,
His options he weighed.
In the game of life,
He lost but at least he played.
Not worried about the cost,
He wishes he’d stayed.
Copyright © Steve M. | Year Posted 2019
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