A convalescent relief...

Along the streets of sorrows,
below the mighty dark sky;
all alone I toil in pain,
with none to hear me cry..

I aint a one-man army,
nor a far fetched wizard;
to stop these emotions bedevilling me,
they maim me violently hard...

The unerving bullets of regret,
on me, are ceaselessly fired;
and over, there's a lack of assets,
for me, be by them, inspired...

This ill-favoured tyranny,
has put me in a doubt;
whether from this eternal nightmare,
I'd ever be able to come out...

I need u God, to help me,
to mend this hurting grief;
bless me God, bless me;
a 'Convalescent relief'....



Poetry by Ronan Ferdinand
Read 686 times
Written on 2007-07-26 at 06:02

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