Perhaps one of my best poems ever……
The fire of hope still shines bright,
Yet to the man who has lost his sight,
What use is this hope to behold,
When he cannot see but must be told.
So who is to blame when he falls to despair,
When all his dreams are just a repeated nightmare,
When he can only feel the light of day,
Its touch on his skin makes him turn away.
What use is living a life like this,
Whilst others enjoy one of pure bliss,
When you are the butt of the world's sick joke
And upon someone else's pride you choke.
What use is living life like this,
When you wish for once death's scythe would not miss,
To the taker of souls your heart does cry,
Come take mine, I wish to die.