Caricamento in corso...

Who Are We

to Marcy Howard

Apologies, may, be given, but it doesn’t ease, the pain,
It doesn’t, stop, the storms from coming, it doesn’t, stop the rain,
Words, can be, no comfort, especially, when, never said,
As the wheels, turn, round and round, somewhere, in my head.
Some, say, I am crazy, at times, I would agree,
But they, don’t walk, in my shoes, they really, don’t know me,
Yet, I cling, to the thought, forever’s, just a day,
As, the memories, of the past, condemn, the coming day.
Daily, there is, that dream, that, she’d be here with me,
And as, I turn, to look around, her face, is what, I see,
As, the effort, is clearly made, to push away, something real,
It just shows, the fear inside, for this thing, that you feel.
If, you ask, the question, what happened, to being fair,
It seems, it falls, on deaf ears, and very few, truly care,
I see, the colors, all are gone, I’m left, with black and white,
But still, the nightmare’s, seem to come, sleepless, through, the night.
It’s said, at times, you must let go, but, what, if you, can not,
Because, I know, what we found, I realize, what I’ve got,
Though, it feels, this heart, is caged, these dreams, set it free,
And though, I sit here, all alone, I wonder, who are we.



Altre opere di Lance Nathan Conrad...