Empty

Time and time again, perfection sees none.

Greatest creation for the best of fun.

But, I know nothing is to come from this,

for an emptiness resides inside me.

The greatest of great creates more sweet bliss,

but she always gives the correct decree.

 

I can't help and miss the old joy I once had.

 

Now her greatness is all that all desire.

I'm just a peasant to greatness, oh, sire.

 

She has grace, kindness, bliss. It drives me mad.

For what I have is nothing in her eyes.

The one thing she desires, it all else lies,

she smiles, she laughs, she cries. What vanity.

In madness, in sanity, I'm empty.

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741