Really Alone?

A poets ponders what to do

With pen in-hand he weeps

Words and phrases passing through

Determine what lines he keeps

From a sad and lonely table

Working feverishly and alone

A poets dreams and hopes are dashed

As spelled out through his tome

In a tenement house he ponders

His small room bare and cold

A stack of poems unpublished

Gathering dust and growing mold

Yet the poet is undaunted

His writing is what keeps him sane

Poetry keeps his mind off hunger

The hunger pains they tame

He wonders in his loneliness

If he is really alone

Accompanied by his writings

In this sad place he calls home

In quiet desperation

The poet slowly rises from his chair

Shuffles over to the window sill

Looking out to only stare

Tears run from his reddened eyes

It's a struggle just to stay alive

When he gives in to the temptation

Taking now that final dive

(c) BAM