Slow Suicide

Emotion swirls the brush giving way to canvas.
Gliding with a purpose, I feel my way.
Intense concentration, lines find a home.
Poetry in motion, love blesses the page.

All through the years, language is learned.
Speaking ever so plain, hearing only riddles.
Course are the words, velvet his meaning.
Striving to forge ahead, lost in the middle.

Years wasted, life without meaning.
Secrets kept alone, tear drops flood his heart.
Grinding through hot sand, the desert overcomes.
Barren salted earth, stone harvest is his part.

Foolishly he awaits, self promises forsaken.
Forever ends so sudden, seldom we feel alive.
Never comes the time, purpose finds meaning.
My life a lonely story, a slow suicide.

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