What is this pain not bested by courage?
Heavy, hanging on thee like mournful moss
Drawing thy mind to its deadly moorage
To bind thy limbs and awaken thy loss
Thy eyes are blind to its eternal fog.
In softly thy ear, cruel whispers come brief.
Down thy mouth it spills its pestilent bog
Til thy gentle breath is taken with grief.
Great and long are the tears thy eyes have wept
More shall come before this pain you accept
8-14-2013 by James Hall