Poetry

To Whom It May Concern.

To whom it may concern.                                                

I feel so empty inside.                                                          

My pain grows and grows,                                                    

But it is so hard to hide.                                                      

I feel like a rose with no thorn on my stem,                    

My heart is so torn like a broken off tree limb.                  

I cannot bare the sad songs that play on the radio station,  

So I change the channel and await the happy sensation.                                                                        

To whom it may concern.                                                    

I'll over come my sorrow,                                                              

And hope better things will happen tomorrow.