Indirected Objective

Soul Poetry

Where did I go,

when I had no place?

Who did I see,

to recollect their face?

Why did I cry,

in saddened times?

When did I laugh,

at silly rhymes?

What did I do,

in times of strife?

How did I survive,

this beatdown life?

Where does it end,

this road of grief?

Who, in the night,

reaps my soul, as a thief?

Why did I run,

when I've no place to hide?

When did they notice,

that part of me died?

What do they want?

I've nary left, to give.

How do I survive,

this will not to live?

Where do I turn,

if there's only one way?

Who'll be there for me,

on my final day?

Where is it written,

that this be my fate?

Who can stop this,

before its too late?

Why does it want,

the little that's left?

When will they notice,

I'm all but bereft?

What can I do,

to reverse this plight?

How can I turn,

its wronged, into right?

Where shall I turn,

for any assistance?

Who can free me,

from this fated existance?

Why must I suffer,

at the hands of this beast?

When will it be full,

from its devouring feast?

What shall I do,

with what little remains?

How can I break free,

from these irony chains?

Where is the justice,

in one so utterly defective?

Who's simply now just,

an indirected objective?

Author's Notes/Comments: 

*On loosing my gray matter functioning-the result of Lupus and ME/CFS.

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