I am a wreck, a ruin – a life-ravaged soul, aching, longing to be free.
I don’t mean to complain. I’m not complaining. I’m hurting, can’t you see?
Am I broken, or was I never meant to be here at all, that I cannot handle this life?
I know nothing any longer but the weariness and longing, the exhaustion too intense to fight.
And, the metre’s out of sync, and the sorrow’s out of bounds,
my fatigue is fatigued; waking leaves me drained – let me sleep away my time –
and there goes the rhyme, along with the metre –
again, I’m a failure…
but, I’m not complaining; that should be plain to all.
I’m hurting, longing, aching –
and, like this poorly written verse,
my end is not forthcoming.
©Autumn Dawn Leader 2015