Cast not the stone that kills my soul,

 nor the silence that keeps me alone.

Atrocious and vile be those works,

which steal what’s left or known.

 For without your touch,

 nor the sound of your voice,

 I waste and whither to the bone. 

  For I am weak and without choice.

 And I lack the courage to go it alone.

 Chance has left me in this solitary state,

I looked to you for pittance,

For nothing have I left to give.

I only looked for you, to prove I live.

 Yet I only found that you had already gone.

 Left now am I unto the darkness,

 in a heaven so black,

One void of any light

 that would lead me home,

I grovel now at mercies gate,

 one made of iron and stone.

 It foretells the pains

of a life gone wrong,

one of missed chance

and of mistakes made;

now time has come

for the price be paid.

 J. Allen Wilson © 2003