The land is parched.
The trees are bare -
they stand like burnt skeletons:
dead soulless sentinels
left as markers or
signs, signs of the times.
The sun no longer is seen;
each day brings only gray
flat, formless clouds above.
I cannot bear
this time, this place,
this reality.
Gone are most colors...
all that remains are dark
browns and shades of gray.
Some say the end is near.
They have more hope than I do.
I think this monotony,
days like this, these days,
will go on and on and on
forever.
YOU ARE READING
What Matters Most: Poems About Love, Loss, & Trauma
PoetryThis is a collection of poems inspired by love, loss of love, and other events that began in late July of 2000. This is my autobiography in poetry form. It's not just about love but also about the loss of those I have loved. I had fallen totally and...
