The truth is, I am empty—tapped out
Of fruitless fantasies and amorous aching.
I am convinced that I have no smiles
Left to smile or laughs in me to give.
I am sure that levity would be lost,
As irony cannot make me chuckle,
Or even hint of curdled feeling.
Left jaded and afraid, I am uncertain
And vaguely aware of calloused antics
That once were, and endings that
Haven’t always been joyous occasions.
Honestly, I spend my days delicately
Dancing around circumstance and
The unkind secret, that reappears,
Each time I stop to examined the
Whittled life I’ve been left to live.
I cannot keep my feet still for a moment,
Else I let trueness torture me
With apathy and archaic devices.
Dare not, the sun go down, for
Dawn must always been as dim
As dusk, one night prior
DannYetman
www.DanielYetman.com
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