sentence

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  • Loss

    sentence

      Standing on mountain of regret

      Cold from the sweat of impurity

      Tasting the salt from my eyes

      I cry

     

      Hatred eating away my life

      Tragedy played out on bleeding knees

      Victimized traumatized swimming in lies

      I cry

     

      All the things I stood for?

      Forgotten

      All the things I lived for?

      Now rotting

      Standing alone in the chaos of silence

      Hearing the whispers of insanity

     

      I cry out in my hatred

      Screaming in eternal rage

      Looking beyond I see the freedom

      I had before this cage

     

      Talking to myself with untruths

      Believing the sentence read

      Holding my head in my guilt

      Living but live as dead

      I cry

     

     

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    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

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