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It takes me too long to pass on It irks my tired brain My conclusion is foregone Until then pointless pain The fiends grow rich from doing wrong But fleeting is their gain My treasures elsewhere must belong Let folly here remain To leave this world is my true wish To end this loveless drought I feel just like a gutted fish From all my heart put out They misdirect the love I'm due And leave me here to pout They never had the slightest clue What I first sang about Like passing years becomes this hour How might death gather speed? Plunge from high atop the tower? Taste the bitter weed? It's too late for a hero's end From lifelong wounds I bleed I want to see my long lost friend I want my spirit freed |
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| © 2007, 2014. Poetry by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved. |
Monday, August 11, 2014
The Mortal Interval
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