ANOTHER DAY

WHENEVER I WANT IT OVER,
DROWNED IN MY OWN TEARS
OF REGRET AND DISENCHANTMENT
OF MISTAKES MADE OVER TIME,

I READ A TALE OF WAR
BECKONING FROM A SHELF.
I CRY ANEW WITH SORROW
AS USELESS AS MYSELF,

SADDENED BY THE SLAUGHTERS,
THE MAD WASTE OF LIVES,
AS YET I LIVE! WHEREFORE?
TO FORGIVE WITH HOPELESS LOVE.