There is no hope, no peace in these bones
There can never be rest for this weary soul
Nothing good comes from this sack of flesh
This combination of body and soul moans
And longs to be set free from the tragedies
That plague this cursed realm of the living
Why can't there be any rest, no peace here
That this soul can hold for even a moment?
Why must this soul be hounded by the past?
Please ponder this out in your hearts, friends.
YOU ARE READING
Writings of Expression
PoesíaJust some poems I wrote. Have a great day, rest of your week, and life!
