Nothing else can be lost,
my soul can bear no more the harm... or painful cost.
As my last few hopes and dreams... fall to the floor and shatter into the misery it seems.
I start to consider the things in life...that should matter.
Always held back with the carrying of anothers boulders,
legs warn down now...and with broken shoulders.
Hands that bare too many a bloody scar,
of a man who has had to walk many miles for others...but never got all that far.
Stagnated, in the darkness of the air I breath,
a gathering of dark clouds, that never seem to leave.
My room...the air... the fill of the place,
knows of no sparkle or nicely lit space.
Glum dull and painfully bleak,
nothing to look forward to from week to week.
So nothing else matters, I have paid the cost,
my heart is now shattered, my love of life...now lost.
James Irwin's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Down by James Irwin )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
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