Left to Ponder - A Poetic Practice

The heart knows it's lonely self by beating in irregular beats extending to the outer limbs bringing nothing but loneliness wishing they go away with each random caress.

The gentle soul knows it's broken when it feels the soul leave with each passing tick of father rings hand as the purpose is taken from its existence in life's weave.

The sight it sees on other souls around them beyond out overflowing sorrow that bows their rigid discipline into jello as the world turns to yellow.

The wonder they experience is nothing but temporary distractions when it's left alone to wallow at the hard truth it has to swallow like a pill it's needed to just wake up to the morning light.

Verses and terses did nothing to bring out and stop the sorrow surrounding it like the plague bringing nothing but dark clouds into an otherwise blue yonder.

I'm left to ponder.
This we all wonder.

This really hit me hard.

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