DESOLATION'S ROW

Desolation's row
By james a. galgano

The lonely person's hand is arms length away from tomorrow.
Well beyond todays reach forlorn and wallowing in sorrow.
The future seems now forever desolate with no one to speak.
This can often go on twenty-four hours a day seven days a week.
Darkness' shroud is the only comfort spent alone in candlelight.
As it flickers with each breath exhaled try as one might
No hope appears like some guardian angel to give solace or redeem.
One is left with that empty feeling percolating within every lost dream.
Captured through wakeless hours of discontent and trepidation.
There is no hand outstretched to hold leaving the feeling of desolation.
Cowering within dancing silhouettes moving slowly upon empty walls
Like some unfulfilled allegory captive to eternal loneliness' every beck and call
Where there often appears no reason to carry on into every tomorrow to come
No matter how often one makes effort to discover some solace in every rising sun.
It remains beyond reach arms length from the endless sky where one comes undone.
Without hope or prayer offering redemption or some sort of temporary salvation
One is often left abandoned without one possibility of some consoling expectation.