I don’t write frivolous verse.
Maybe happy harmony just never came to me.
My rhymes are harsh, horrible terse.
Perchance it is as it is meant to be
Painful phrases come straight from my heart..
Was life always so bleak, so unhappy?
If not, where did my sorrow start,
Why this unending morose misery?
Each new dawn is just another gray day
in which I cannot function or prosper.
So what am I, why even try to pray
if I simply, sincerely cannot prosper?
The smothering cloud of depression:
an irrevocable lasting impression..