Lament of the Defeated.

Image courtesy Pixabay.com. Source Link.
Image courtesy Pixabay.com. Source Link.

Verse 1.

And the sound of thunder, rumbling,
As I see my castle crumbling,
A fall from grace,
Not saving face,
I hit the earth, tumbling…

And I see myself walk, stumbling,
Finding my way out and fumbling,
A volcano today,
Made my world, Pompeii,
And I stand and stare, just wondering…

All that waiting, unending,
All that energy, so draining!
It’s no surprise,
Life offers no prize,
For the ones patiently anticipating…

Shouldn’t I start hesitating?
Shouldn’t I start withdrawing?
When nothing goes well,
Dreams damned to hell,
Shouldn’t I enter my cocoon, lamenting?

But this stupid heart keeps beating,
Old mistakes keep on repeating,
So tired to pump,
Pounding one last thump,
Finally, some peace in succumbing.

Verse 2.

There you see a wind chime,
Of hues of grey and blue,
Made of broken dreams,
And tears that act like glue.

When the breeze blows gentle,
Sighs a-plenty resound,
A song only the heart hears,
When no one else is around.

It’s tall and dark and beautiful,
Many shards reflecting light,
Who knew a thing so wonderful,
Could be made from someone’s plight?

Today I walked right past it,
And saw another new prism,
I recognized that murky glass,
It was once a shade of crimson.

Verse 3.

Long are the years spent in sorrow,
Swift fly the moments of fleeting joy,
And I can’t beg or steal or borrow,
The happiness that passes me by.

My melancholy mindset is heavy,
I feel like I weigh a hundred tons,
The bitterness will wear off, maybe,
But right now, I can blot out the sun.

Have I forgotten how to be cheerful?
Do I absorb agony, like a sponge?
And I fear, if I am not careful,
Into the abyss, I shall plunge.

“Like it hasn’t happened before!”,
I scoff at myself and my hurt,
“Like you didn’t pull through, before”,
Yet I drag my heart out in the dirt.

Verse 4.

Sneaky sweet like cinnamon,
Add a pinch in your apple pie,
But when you take a heaping spoonful,
It’ll make you weep, curl up and die.

Such is my pain and my anguish,
For I cannot swallow nor spit it out,
It’s the spice in the heart of the dish,
And only I seem to have put it in my mouth.

Finale.

“Did I do it to myself?”, you ask,
Perhaps, I did, if living is my sin,
“Document it!”, you command such a task!
I wouldn’t even know where to begin.

The End.

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