I sit alone and feel so low,
My pen heavy, my heart just so,
The words won't come, the ink is dry,
I want to write, but can't deny.
The darkness creeps inside my head,
Filling me with fear and dread,
The world is cruel, life is unfair,
I wish I could just not care.
The muse has left, my spirit's low,
I've lost my spark, I don't even know,
If I'll ever find the light again,
Or if this pain will be my end.
But still I write, though it's a chore,
I spill my soul, and nothing more,
The words may be bleak, but they're my own,
A testament to what I've known.
For even in the depths of despair,
I know that I must share,
The pain and sorrow of my soul,
And hope that someone will make me whole.
So I write on, through tears and strife,
Hoping to find a way to life,
And though I'm lost, and full of woe,
I know I'll find my way back home.
©Otieno Elvis Gikoi
THE ELO’S
©bold-geo
B