The Restless Poet

In all the halls of sorrow,
I cannot comprehend.
Release of these burdens—
a means to an end.

You see me as obnoxious;
you philosophize as such,
“This too shall pass,” truism—
an attempt to circumvent.

I drift—a seamless sea,
Lost in the endless, blackened depths.
Searching for the surface,
I’m drawn back—drowning, in
grieving mystery.

I’ve ravaged the years,
The weight of dissonance.
Blunted in the shadows of animosity,
No need for indolence.

I sigh… an exigent demand.
I catch my breath,
Gather my tears, wipe my eyes,
Face the darkness and slowly rise.