Miserable

Felix Brambaifa
The cry of the miserableIs like the whispers in a waste landIts strength determine, but feebleAnd so hope is impossible to find
There, exists only the feel of desolationOf the kind, akin only to despairThe will to survive clouded in confusionFor the agony of loneliness brings fear
The shadow of abandonment looms tallLike the darkness that precedes deaths handWhen its purpose must enforce the spiritual fallInto a realm, where all fates be bound