Question

One stares, impassive, death's head. This has been a day
Which was too much: too cold, too wracked with pain,
Too putrified through social interaction. Sunset seemed
A blessing. Sleep's arrival, close enough to true extinction,
Beckons. Fall and die. At last, be finished. Should one
Rise again tomorrow just to face the cold and pain,
A question will loom overhead: why bother going on?





Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 41 times
Written on 2024-12-13 at 02:18

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Liam The PoetBay support member heart!
Tomorrow is the day that IT might just happen, whatever that it is in your mind. That is what gets us out of bed in the morning.
2024-12-13



We need Space not wars, book a spatial journey with Amazon, let's be delivered in Space
2024-12-13


arquious The PoetBay support member heart!
Interactions with others can prove burdensome. (Sigh)
2024-12-13