Hurtful time
Meaningless
Hanging useless
Unneeded and unwanted
Every wasted instant
Killing the man I was
Turning me into something tame
My own pale shadow
Not me

All my cherished dreams
As stale as ancient bread
All hope within me
Has turned to ghostly pale
Even my lack of belief
Seems unbelievable
Each rock that I'm made of
Crumbles into dust
Longing for the wind
Of my final storm

                            By Phil Roberts