Silence is the loudest sound to echo in my head. One is a very lonely number, As other poets have said. I’m still tired when I wake up, and leave my empty bed. The next best rhyme to end this line is dead…. but I tell myself that all is change a journey to some end and If I keep moving it won’t remain the same.
These days I wish I wasn’t built to endure. a near miss is far worse on the heart my dear,
Wishing I didn’t care seeing through the lines on my face filled with salty tears, And hope for a change of heart to end to my fears. I pray for peace of mind but I can’t tell how I feel. It only makes things worse that I know it was a waste to try.
These days I wish I wasn’t built to endure. a near miss is far worse on the heart my dear,
I so easily misdirected mesmerized with a slight of hand by a master of the art. Controlled by my own desire of what I wanted most (such an easy mark). Fooled by smoke off a damaged soul’s pyre who felt the need to crush.
These days I wish I wasn’t built to endure. a near miss is far worse on the heart my dear,
and all along all I had was echos in my head.
LGhurcomb 2/19/2018
Copyright LGHurcomb