My diary tells the story,
The pages wet with tears,
Of the many lonely hours,
And all the wasted years.
Once I wrote of youthful hopes,
Now my face is old and jaded,
My outer shell reflects my soul,
Where all my dreams have sadly faded.
Happiness was not predicted,
Not an aspect of my astral chart
Of love pains, I’ve never been afflicted,
But beats softly, my jaded heart.
Copyright: Kristian Fogarty – 05/November/2019
I have included the following word prompts: