A Soul’s Misery

Regrets, they keep coming
Pouring, thoughts distracted
Wounded, my soul struggles to
find its grave.

Surrender, what is left but nothing
Aching, reveal what is not mended
Ended, misery will soon
find its grave.



  1. No regrets just learning, the grave you called,
    Has a body lying still. Temper yourself with
    The lights of yesterday’s trials for it may come
    Handy, when you finally realize your are running out of life’s vial.

    Haha cannot help myself but answer your poetry.

    Clever is it not?

    K.W. Villa

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