Loney Times

Something I wrote in my free time.

Why do I feel this way?
Why do I search for this thing everyone calls "love"?
Why do I torment myself with stuff I daresay?


So many questions unanswered,
Questions that drive me insane, like an endless math problem.
There have been many points in my life where I have suffered,
But never have I felt so darksome.

I'm left to walk alone with my hands in my pockets,
With the freezing cold wind lashing against my face,
And left to sit at my desk and write these wannabe sonnets,
With a cold heart, bloodshot eyes, and with a paleface.


So the real question is, am I ever going to escape these lonely times?
I have my friends, but I still feel like a ghost,
And so here I am now, writing these sorrowful rhymes.

Author's Note

Give me your best shot.

Reviews

[Bennett Logan]

This poem is quite successful in it's protrayal of lonliness. The imagery is descriptive and works well. Everyone has felt exactly like this at some point or another, and that makes this poem quite accessible. You also seem to have a knack for the language and its rhythm. My only suggestion for this poem would be to remove any words or lines that do not absolutely need to be there. I think this may create more of an extract in which the reader is immersed in the lonliness of the poem. Keep up the good work, and definately keep writing.