I wrote of weakness, day and night,
And now I’m done, the story’s told.
Just weariness is etched upon my sight,
As memories fade and turn into cold
To think about what might have been,
Like water through my fingers streamed…
My spirit broken, so it seems
The worth diminished, and misdeemed.
Aug, 2025
Inner Turmoil
© Copyright: Шеффер Яна, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125091701761
Свидетельство о публикации №125091701761
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