Grip

I want help, for some help, I'm crying out.
But I look around, there's nobody about.
The chill of the Winter, it bites and it bites.
Lonely, cold and miserable are my nights.

Messages go unanswered, pleas unheard.
Of this endless solitude, I want to be spared.
There goes another day, good riddance I say.
The voices in my head, now come out to play.

Those voices taunt me, of how things were.
They turn back the clock, into the past I stare.
I try not to look, as into restless sleep I slip.
But those voices have me forever in their grip.

◄ The Ghosts of Qatar

The End ►

Comments

<Deleted User> (34685)

Fri 9th Dec 2022 00:08

Mike j( with respect) join one of the dozens of fantastic community groups unless that is this is just a poem for poems sake. Nothing worse than being alone especially at Xmas

all the best my friend and hope you get sorted 👍

LS

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