Where Is My Mind?

Where is my mind?
Where has it gone?
Like a leaf pushed by wind,
it has traveled the earth.

It has become a part of the hated,
and now makes it a part of me.
Do I deserve to die under a December moon?
O mist! Cover me forever.

O tombstone of mine, do you now wither?
Weeping willows, receive me with open arms!
A shadow that died has sprung to life,
and now he's back to claim his haunt.

I'm sick of saying sorry,
repeating, repeating in my head.
My mind, trivial is its story.
You must be sick and I dead.

poem by Soren Valentine
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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