It comes

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It comes

It comes to take over me, bubbling up inside,
I can not run, there is no way to hide.
Its iron grip takes hold of my heart,
Squeezing out any hope before it can start.
A faint voice calls to me “Where there’s a will there’s a way”,
But there is nothing I can do and nothing I can say.
It reaches to my throat, choking out all life,
The edges of my mind is the end of its plight,
As I push back the darkness and search for the light.
Although it is just a shimmer, a ripple in the night,
I long for the morning, and the end of this fight.

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Poetry is what gets lost in translation.

Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

Poetsheart’s Poems (13)

Title Comments
Title Comments
Haunting past 1
Which Way? 3
Tear it again 4
Dawns Light 1
Battle With in 1
Who Cares? 1
Oh Daddy, Daddy! 1
God Knows 0
You loved me any way 1
Broken Mirror 0
It comes 0
Lets Dream 1
Rivers Cry 3