Reflections Poem by Scott Forster

You can't confess
all those crosses you carry.
Bearing your soul to a book
hoping for caring words
beggin' sympathy from a look.
Given all you had left
put life into each page, each breathe.
Flowing into the night
trying to bury day light demons
that burden your door.
empty of hope
but holding out for more.
All these unanswered questions.
Ever the cynic
With no where left to fall.
Dreams come to halt
now just morbid stink of despair
carrying all the memories of sweeter air.

Written 25/11/2010.