Alone in my circle of sorrow,
Aloof from the cries of the crowd,
Where dreams and desires are discarded
And laughter is little allowed;

In silence securely sequestered,
Here sheltered from passion and pain,
I cling to this sterile existence,
Unmindful of sunshine or rain.

. The Past but a curious relic,
The Future a murky mirage,
The Present a spurious painting,
A meaningless tawdry collage.

The days become nights without number,
Long vanished are pride and conceit;
I struggle no more but surrender,
My circle of sorrow complete.

| Return to Poetry Index |
| Seniors-Site Homepage | E-Mail | Site Master |