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In Psychology 1 min read
Last sad one
<p>There is a hymn I have carried for years,</p><p>hummed low for those whose gardens</p><p>will not bloom again.</p><p>I gave it to the wind, watched it</p><p>curl through the hair of strangers</p><p>as they passed, trying to pour</p><p>this quiet psalm into their ears.</p><p>But they kept walking, as if they never heard</p><p>this song still searching for a place to rest.</p><p><br/></p><p>Who taught us to measure our worth</p><p>in the eyes of others?</p><p>I sing to a crowd of strange stares,</p><p>all fixed on me as if I had set</p><p>the world alight. And I ask,</p><p>Do I frighten you?</p><p>Sometimes, I frighten myself.</p><p><br/></p><p>My wounds never knew balm or healing draught,</p><p>only self-prescribed doses of poetry</p><p>to stitch the cracks. My hurts, steeped in ink.</p><p>For I am a mosaic, pieced together</p><p>from a thousand sad poems,</p><p>words that cut like scissors on paper</p><p>every time I try to speak them.</p><p><br/></p><p>To wrap my melancholic act up </p><p>our time on earth </p><p>Let our lives be rivers, flowing strong and free,</p><p>Leaving behind a trail, for future generations to see.</p><p>May our deeds be celebrated, in stories, songs, and tales,</p><p>A lasting impact, that forever prevails.</p><p><br/></p>

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Last sad poem for now obviously 😞
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