My body has grown weary
From the trials of the day;
Of every day, for they are the same.
Tomorrow shall be the same as yesterday,
Just known by a different name.
The colours have faded into a dreary grey,
And I watch myself spiral - I know it must stop,
For the pain is not something I can downplay:
At least, not forever. The breaking point approaches,
A storm is coming, where each tear is a raindrop
Splattered upon the murderous highway.
This road has no end, no twists, bends or change-
It is the object of my discontent, a one-way
Journey to the last place that I'd arrange
To ever go.
Thus my body is weary,
And my mind is aglow
With thoughts so heavy, so cruel, so eerie
That they cannot be my own.
There are a great many things that I shall never know,
But I know that, when the road is wet,
I must be careful, and take it slow.
YOU ARE READING
Refraction.
PoetrySo many aspects, colours and themes make up our experiences. Truly, is anything entirely good or entirely bad? Upon weighing up the positives and negatives of the past, do we not admit that even tragedy is- in a twisted sort of way- advantageous? O...
