You know you are at the end of it
When your eyes are like dry wells
Tears no longer come out
Dehydrated suffering
You gaze so indifferently
At the so indifferent world
Detached, disinterested
Staring pointlessly
As if your eyes were already empty
Eye sockets
Relax
They will song become filled
With sand and dirt
Together with your mouth
Which you won’t have to keep shut
Any longer
When I go outdoors, it is always cloudy.
They tell me that I am wrong, it is a sunny day!
The Sun is warm and comforting and gay
In that old straight sense of the comic word
But all I see are clouds, intensely grey
And so I shyly pray to the Almighty Lord
And stuttering I beg, and plea, and say:
Please let me see what they all can see
That cheerful Sun
Please give me back my dear, my beloved son
He doesn’t answer, His silence is benign
He knows that all too well
Theirs is the Sun above but all the clouds are mine.
Roobit's Poetry Burrow 