Consuming Sorrow

Sorrow preoccupies the soul, a weight so vast,
killing the body, draining it fast.
It seeps into bones, a silent thief,
robbing the spirit, amplifying grief.

Exploiting the mind, it twists and winds,
unraveling thoughts like tangled vines.
A darkness that clouds every waking hour,
stripping the will, devouring power.

Sorrow cares not for the coming end,
it whispers of death like an old friend.
Indifferent to the life that slips away,
it numbs the senses, keeps joy at bay.

The forthcoming death, an unspoken vow,
means little to a heart that’s broken now.
For what is there left to fear or mourn,
when the soul is weary, battered, and torn?

Sorrow lingers, a shadowed embrace,
a slow decay that time cannot erase.
Killing the body, it takes its toll,
a relentless conqueror of heart and soul.

Exploiting the mind, a cruel disguise,
turning hope into something despised.
So here I stand, indifferent, alone,
a vessel of sorrow, turned to stone.

For when the end comes, it will be no surprise,
death is but a closing of the weary eyes.
Sorrow preoccupies, until nothing remains,
but a quiet surrender to its endless chains.