With The Pigs

My Exhaustion is of a kind
That tarries in the soul
And leaves the body in a state
Let my joy be so as well.

My Depression is of a weight
That takes a man down low
And down below the stormy sea
Your dying is quite calm.

My cold failures are of a class
That colour every thing
No light comes through another lense
Let my peace be so as well.

Dreaming of the home
The one I’ve never known
Let the bad turn into good
And lead me there to rest.

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4 thoughts on “With The Pigs

  1. Your allusion to that herd of pigs running into the sea and drowning is just TOO sad and too self-judgmental here, soulwalker. But I appreciate your honest sharing of your mood, nevertheless. Bless you, dear man.

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