The Trial

When I think of you, our lives’ now in retrograde, truant

Sometimes filled with jocund and a countenance of sorrow, angered

Life becomes prodigal when we have nothing to breath for, agony.

Our unfledged ideas, so naïve and beautiful, futile

After death we can only hope to be canonised, desperate

To be pernicious towards ourselves, natural...

You knew the pain of pains the crippling nail, rusted by blood

Wasting away throughout the ages, craving

The sound of strings stroked your soul, soothing

But it wasn’t enough...

Love would evade you, as would happiness, deathly

Where were we while you bathed in the Pit of Acheron, alone

Your pain only truly considered when it was late, too late

In my own way I tried to dip my toes into the water, plight

But was it enough?

Why we are born to suffer such misery, disdaining

I will not cast you aside so soon, like cracked pottery

Are you really gone, did you hear me ask?

Sometimes I’m not so certain, of anything

Everything must decline, the highest of entropy, forget

It will never be enough...