What’s With Him? | Poem

I often forget who I am and it pains,

As a soul forgets to polish itself

On rough love, rough life, rough death,

Still I look at bright sun and scream oblivion.

I often think about lives I lived and it pains,

As a happiness turns traumatic over thoughts,

Keep writing a story I will write once,

Whomever you are,

Wake me up when the lost never return.

There is a child hiding under the dusty sheets,

Pick him up and clean him up to shine,

Soon, he will know the blessing of cursing,

I’m awaiting for a moment to rejoice.

© sjwordsmith

You may also like

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.