A blur of colours pass by,
My presence unknown to them.
What is this blur?
It's life.
The world.
My being...
Left behind.
Am I wrong?
Clinging to the past?
Tightening my grip,
Every time it slips.
Am I wrong?
To love those gone?
Keeping every memory,
Cherishing even the bad.
Am I wrong?
Living like this?
Refusing to go forth,
Denying a chance.
Am I wrong?
YOU ARE READING
My Lonely Pathos
PoetryA series of poems, songs and whatever else is screaming in my mind. Pathos isn't something that comes to me, but when it does, it's written down and shared for those to see.
