There is a longing in my heart,
That weighs me down so,
In sluggish ways I drag behind,
Those with conquered dreams,
Fortune,
Love,
And bliss.
As I miss out on all of this,
I burn a fever of desire,
Cramp with intolerance,
Plagued with ill health,
Preventing me from blossoming into my true self.
Ailments anchor me,
Fractures imprison me,
My tune is off key,
I wreak of mortality,
As I claw my way through the storm.
A little flame burns on,
Not yet engulfed,
Nor defeated,
But the tide drifts further away each day,
The odds are not in my favour,
I may be a fighter,
But a betting man would gamble me away.
To the melancholy strings of my heart,
I sway,
As I battle on,
Weak or strong,
It seems that I am not yet done.
