My pen aches, it’s been ages
The words don't come; it's hard to find pathways
My heart craves to speak.
My pen aches, too much word
The words don't come, they are sad to move
My heart sinks, heavy words cry.
Life has been full of roses
Withered roses
Dead through consistent striving
Wake up to a beautiful day
Filled with breeze of sadness and
Sorrow chirping of birds
I cry when joy comes my way
Because it's for a limited period
Depression dictates my life.
It hurts to lament
Why do I make my plight known?
My situation won't be changed.
I live in a pool of forlornness
My cries won't melt sadness away
I`m already deep in the pool
Thanks for taking your time to read this pious poetry, have a lovely night rest.
Still your lovely fellow Steemian
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