Joyless. Torn. (Neverborn? Who am I?)
I wander through a ghostly mist,searching for a past.
A past not torn by striking fist
nor neglect too vast.
A ravaged soul. A child bereft
of lifes basic needs.
My hopes are gone. Dashed out by theft -
overgrown with weeds.
I'm depressed and kinda rootless -
that's all fine by me.
For what use is my happiness
when shadowed by mortality?
Poetry by An-ders
Read 785 times
Written on 2007-08-03 at 02:18
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