RMC

For the masses I propose,

not a single rose.

For my eyes see not but

a grief stricken road.

I have nothing to lift

despair from my face.

I do not dance no tune

brings light in this place.

The road is cobble

built a million years ago.

The rose is dead and withers;

my eyes do not glow.

I have no insight nor idea

how to set my grief down.

I posses no desire to display

myself adorned in any crown.

For sorrow buries my brow

and my chin is pointed down.

I have come to hate myself

and it manifests in words found.

My emotion guides my tongue,

and at times it is calamity. 

Words I speak driven by emotion

they destroy my sanity.

I don’t mean to curse my place,

here in a valley below mountains.

I want a fresh springs to erupt

from cobble roads a fountain. 

So I stare intently at my feet,

they’ve started to callus in miles

that I’ve traveled in despair

no song has been sung in awhile.