Lack Of Peace Poem by Melanie Weeks

O, lack of peace beith my death.
If tears of plently beith my wealth,
Would not I be happy then?
No, I would not.

What shadowed trees
That the wind flows through?
The pines that poke,
Maples that are sweet,
The broken oaks?

What does fire and ash
Flow through?
Where does all this maddness come from
I bring?

The fact that thou art my anchor,
Means thy heavy burdens pull me down.
I'm am fagile.
I am weak.
In my mental state
Beith not I am strong.

Who cowers beside me
As each mental slap findith my face?
Who covers me when thy art cold?
Who givith me water and bread to eat?
Aye, God Almighty,
He is here with me.

As I weaken with each stress thy give,
I maketh it through the day
With the strenth the strongest.

Mayhaps, I'll findith the best
Way to writith mine feelings.