The sorrow is like the rain,
That seeps into my soul.
I cannot escape its reach,
How it creeps like a cancer
Into every part of my being.
Its waters never washing me clean
But rather they numb me of feeling.
Soaking me with the amnesia of the dream,
With a meaning that disappears when I awaken.
So that what is happenstance, I view as concrete proof
That there’s only a gap where my heart should be beating.
© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Made of sticks and stones 