My feet feel heavy, my hands looks redundant,
The day is nondescript, the sunlight reluctant.
Inevitability continues to pave my path smugly,
She loves to remind me she won’t end abruptly.
My reflection’s just shapes, grey and contorted,
The night bled me dry as my dream was aborted,
Reality’s a cold mistress, her compassion’s empty,
She spat at my feet in the morning hope left me.
~Poet of Ephraim
Poet of Ephraim 