by Ryan Seramur
the deep placid facade's caress,
upon which my sorrows emerge,
deaf to reason, impossible to purge
Within the moonlight whisps
all my sad thoughts and blunders,
the burden of every mistake and thunder,
oh the rain which never dries
Damn that awful name,
two years now in refrain,
a weakness so overtried,
leave me be, allow some pride
And in the catacombs of my worry,
I cannot feel joy's meek breast,
so I sit in this stark impatience,
and pray my skin to shed anew.
