Sadly,

As I pen this tome,

I once again,

Find myself alone.

When I was young,

I had such dreams,

I wasted them all,

Falling apart at the seams.

My life was lived,

In parceled moments,

The ones I loved,

Became opponents.

The joy within,

That young boy’s laughter,

Became cries to the man,

Losing what I sought after.

What chance had I,

Being the likes of me,

For who could place value,

On a mud-crusted penny.

I forlornly watched,

As the roses bloomed,

Knowing already,

That my own garden was doomed.

I failed that boy,

As a man, I couldn’t see,

That I lived down,

To my own prophecy.

He kneels head down,

I let his laughter go to waste,

Angry at the man,

For a life, he’ll never taste.

The boy that once was,

Became the man that I am,

Alone,

Forever damned.