Field of Thoughts
My field of thoughts lay polluted
Barren of hopes shoots
Guilt and regret permeate its soil
Its ground parched, crying out
For tears that will not fall.
The hard pithy grains of reality
Stir amongst the desolation
Of deliberate self-assassination
Futility has its own fertility
Of downtrodden negativity
Despairs deep fissures
Confuse the caring
Their tools ineffective
In such a defensive ground
Unable to till, they gaze bemused
Only the wind of cruel intent
Can scrape at the surface
The astute and self-centred
Fire sharp twisted words
That falls like poisonous pollen
My thoughts eek existence
Within depressions desires
Like a Somme like disease
They cling remorsefully to me
Cloaked in aChernobylian winter.
I have not tears of my own
I am undeserving of them
Who will cry my tears for me?
Not of pity, but through knowing my soul
Who will release me and let me grow?
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