deathwatchz

heres another poem... "suffering stew" never published it, but i still like it.

A rain of blood falls from the sky,
The land is drenched, yet remains bone-dry.
Nothing beautiful grows in this wasteland of my life.
I sow all of my pain, and reap all of my strife.

This farm of horrors is all that i've known.
Crops of anguish are all that i've grown.
I toil here constantly, year after year.
Filled with nothing but a great sense of fear.

As I work on this land called my soul,
I find a large flaw, a wide, bloody hole.
Only then do I realize what's been torn apart.
Only then do I see, it's what's left of my heart.

I walk right around it, and continue to plant.
I think about helping it, but I know that I can't.
A scar on the land which will always be there.
It hurts even more, because I know I don't care.

Now harvest time is nearing again.
It greets me warmly, just like an old friend.
The sweep of the scythe, as I harvest my pain.
I feel every stroke, and it drives me insane.

I constantly work on this life I can't mend.
Sometimes I just wonder, and wish it would end.
But I know that i'm stuck here, till I make my due.
So I sit here alone, and eat my suffering stew.