Cold winds Sting my coarse and blistered skin Making my return To a vain veil of time Dead dreams Shadows cry out desparately Can you not remember Your lost sons name? Why should I persist? Wrap me up in shrouds And let me remain unseen Trees that grow together Like father and son Stand in stark contrast To my dreadful outcast soul I wander, forlorn Disfugured, so sore Aching from the weight I bore all those years I am descending a black mountain That crumbles beneath my feet Still, I am looking back Over barren hills Devoid of light I struggle to draw my breath Straining my sight Just so I might catch A glimpse of a long dead dream
disfugured, desparately, coarse, son, contrast