This weary soul is weeping,
so tired and beaten down.
Alone, lost and wandering
through streets of unknown town.
This weary soul is aching,
for basic things in life.
For someone to comfort and hold me
and tell me its all alright.
This weary soul is tired,
exhaustion has taken a toll.
Longing for a little respite,
something to make me whole.
This weary soul is wishing,
for just one better day.
For things that always go so wrong,
to finally go my way.
This weary soul is so damn lonely,
knowing that no one really cares.
Tired of the insensitive looks,
in their blank and emotionless stares.
This weary soul is longing,
for something on which to hold.
A life-line to this troubled existance,
that's quickly growing old.
Cool poem. Well written. \m/ Aya