((c) esfitts-d4165pv)
Life is for the living, and death is for the
dying. But what is there for those whose living has no life, and for whom dying
is not death but release?
WEARY OF LIFE
Weary of life,
Of shrugging off the
darkened drapes of melancholy,
Settling like a
shroud of grief upon my shoulders,
Like a veil around
my face,
Like a mask around
my mind.
Weary of life,
Of shaking from my
memory the dusty webs of sorrow,
Woven by the spiders
in the chasms of my soul,
In the ashes of my
future,
In the sunsets of my
past.
Weary of life,
Of gazing at the
broken, empty dream that once had lived,
That once had
brought the light of love, of hope, to me,
Lost now, all over, dead
and done for,
Lost now, 'midst the
stillness of my tomb.
