Why
What am I, what is my role or purpose
does it even exist a connecting between us.
My stampede of memories to your whimsical thought
the many lessons a life of disappointment taught.
A bond made nothing holding the seams
but broken spirits and tormented dreams.
Actions spoken, deceits served full course
I swallow every breath you utter by force.
Devotion used, abused, neglected that's it
the truth's been clear, ignored, I missed that bit.
Hopes that lingered, encouraged were coddled
to be dropped, dismissed and bottled.
Worn out and tired, my soul it cries
grasping at straws my heart it dies.
Miles at a time my mind it races
confused and driven into clustered spaces.
I consider the pain the hurt I endure
so why do I still care even more.
I recognize, I remember the disinterest in me
but it baffles me I still can't see.
What am I, what is my role or purpose
does it even exist a connecting between us.
My stampede of memories to your whimsical thought
the many lessons a life of disappointment taught.
Every time a day a week may pass
the thought of me is a but a glimpse in the past.
Your friendly greetings continue the persisting lie
it leaves me to wonder WHY.
Copyright © French Simmonds | Year Posted 2018
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