It’s Always Dark These Days

It’s always dark these days,
If the sun comes up, it’s somewhere else –
It’s always dark these days,
And I try and try, from this bleeding head,
To give truth to the lies, and revive the dead —
But it’s always dark these days.

It’s always cold and wet,
But I know there’s a fireplace, somewhere else –
It’s always cold and wet,
But I seek, and I search, from this open cell,
For the means and the strength to get out, and well,
But it’s always cold and wet.

And if dreams were like water,
And happiness, cloud,
I’d pull them in close,
Like a funeral shroud,
And I’d lay down to rest
With a smile in my heart,
For the days I was wiser
Than I am smart —

It’s always dark these days,
So I’m grateful for whatever I can see –
It’s always dark these days,
And although it seems vast, and thick, and deep,
I know light is for giving, and not just to keep;
I have to keep trying to conquer my doubt,
For if no one gives love,
Then none ever goes out —
Even though it’s dark

These days

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

2 thoughts on “It’s Always Dark These Days”

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