Sorrow

HAPPY it was a word
I often thought of.
A sensation
I very seldom knew.
MUSIC a comfort and a friend
perhaps the only one.
I truly ever knew.
I sometimes thought it would be
will I ever know?
Yet unsatisfying,
barely fulfilling, still
it helps me on the road.

Life slowly slipping through my fingers
my eyes are filled with sand.
Work a never-ending nightmare
it fills me with unease.
I would rather die
neath the gentle quiet breeze.

Peace I seek it on the mountain
I find it in a shower.
In the stillborn moonlight
I slowly pass the hour.
One less lonely person
does the credit meet the cost
of that never ending nightmare
of that first real lousy boss.
Of a dream that turned to ashes
in the wind so quickly lost?

Life is but a busy subway
that the frail cannot cross.
And in the gutter we can find them
those that tossed the dice and lost.

poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!