It appears as if,
I live in a lonely world,
all by my lonesome.
Sitting in my room,
writing poetry like this.
Silent company.
I hear the voices,
through the heavy prison door.
Faces never seen.
All that can be done,
wonder if something is wrong.
Are these rumors true?
So what is it then,
that keeps me so far away,
from the rope or knife.
Do I tell myself,
that these things are real or not?
Who is it to say?
Should I contemplate
the lies behind the ending?
Keeping them away.
Alas, it is not so.
These feelings, temporary,
rumors always pass.
Someone is close by,
always there to turn the light,
to be your true friend.
To continue on,
through the dark door of sorrow,
to see the future.
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