Staring at the ceiling, night after night
begging for rest that won't come
Wheels are a turning
For the off switch is lost.
A demand you remember
By chance you forgot.

Such shame and despair
but no way to still
Its cloak must we wear
one's fate is so sealed

Words that were spoken
and the drama's been played
Through eyes vanquished
old pain we do stare.

Endless guilt walks here
Never to speak of, never to share.
You can't turn your head
no looking away
True is the image
That looks back from the mirror.

by J. Edward Armstrong

Comments (1)

A thoughtful poem. I am all too familiar with the thought.