by P.R.Banks

Another day has faded away,
to be replaced by another from the fray.
That eternal skirmish between day and night,
the cunning trick, the eternal sleight.

And as the day drains slowly out,
my thoughts depart - running in a rout.
Only my feelings do remain,
the ache for those I miss a constant pain.

Happiness, pleasure and contentment I feel,
but in a way that seems fake, unreal.
And I wonder what I do miss,
that makes my life seem slightly remiss.

And time creeps slowly on,
relentless, grinding all anon.
And I wait for light to return...

Philip R. Banks
Send Email

Return to the Garden
Return to the Fortress Entrance