01-11-2014, 03:04 AM
I wrote this this morning thinking about how my grandma must feel cooped up in her nursing home. It's pretty sad to me, but I would still appreciate criticism to make it better.
Edit 1
These years, it seems, the sun has barely shone.
The skies outside are wrapped in winter’s grey.
And I’ve been caged inside these walls, alone,
to sit and retrospect my younger days.
My past, my life, has never been so hard
to recollect as now. My mind has grown
as clouded as the atmosphere; I’m barred
within, and left without my memory.
What fate has put me here? What is this place?
I’ve lost all hope of ever walking free.
But oh… how clearly I can see your face,
and hear your voice: you hold my hand, it seems.
They say you’re gone, but I feel your embrace
along this dance between my death and dreams.
These years, it seems, the sun has barely shone.
The skies are blanketed in winter’s grey.
And I’ve been caged inside these walls, alone,
to sit and retrospect my younger days.
My past, my life, has never been so hard
to recollect as now. My mind has grown
as clouded as the atmosphere; I’m barred
within, and left without my memory.
What bastard put me here? What is this place?
I’ve lost all hope of ever walking free.
But oh… how clearly I can see your face,
and hear your voice: you hold my hand, it seems.
They say you’re gone, but I feel your embrace
along this dance between my death and dreams.
Edit 1
These years, it seems, the sun has barely shone.
The skies outside are wrapped in winter’s grey.
And I’ve been caged inside these walls, alone,
to sit and retrospect my younger days.
My past, my life, has never been so hard
to recollect as now. My mind has grown
as clouded as the atmosphere; I’m barred
within, and left without my memory.
What fate has put me here? What is this place?
I’ve lost all hope of ever walking free.
But oh… how clearly I can see your face,
and hear your voice: you hold my hand, it seems.
They say you’re gone, but I feel your embrace
along this dance between my death and dreams.
These years, it seems, the sun has barely shone.
The skies are blanketed in winter’s grey.
And I’ve been caged inside these walls, alone,
to sit and retrospect my younger days.
My past, my life, has never been so hard
to recollect as now. My mind has grown
as clouded as the atmosphere; I’m barred
within, and left without my memory.
What bastard put me here? What is this place?
I’ve lost all hope of ever walking free.
But oh… how clearly I can see your face,
and hear your voice: you hold my hand, it seems.
They say you’re gone, but I feel your embrace
along this dance between my death and dreams.