Many nights I spent awake crying with my pen,
These scrolls of tears were to meet their untimely end,
Cause with sadness there is lament and with anger there is fear,
And the fear of lost is met with a rip and a toss,
Time runs fast never feels, just like the sand of an hour glass,

Woke up in pain, groaned, spun over and groaned again,
Hibernation in the idiosyncrasies of my soul,
Why must one dwell in a house of broken hearts to make one whole?
Why should one fight those demons that aren’t thine own?
Overtime, they say, we are our practices……..
Who am I then, inclined to fight demons and blemishes of my soul,
Left drowning in the misery I’ve created, in the sorrow my many one,
Time runs its course trickling the coarse sand of an hour glass.