the days are slowly passing
bye
i sit in this house
locked up inside
some say i am hiding
others think i have lost
my mind
the neighbors stand
and stare
they wonder what
is going on in there
the shades are drawn up
for the evening light
i see their faces
the moving of their
lips
they are like junkies
waiting for a fix
what do they want of me
what more do i have
left to give
they all think i am
insane
for they don't know
or feel my pain
the day he died i have
never been the same
what would they think
what would they do
if they saw me standing
with Mr Smith & Mr wesson
looking strait down the
barrel of a 22
do they have a clue
do they really care
that i know longer
want to be here
im counting down the
days that i will soon
see you
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
My dear friend...speaking from personal knowledge....a quiet walk alone in some special place is a spiritually soothing experience. And I write for pretty much the same reasons. So please do keep writing.....and walking....both..with vigor. My departed loved ones..are consistently near me...in thought...and feel! Please read 'Is Not...Perception....Reality.' Take care..and..be well.