Desire unfulfilled can make this world a living hell,
and there is only one thing worse as far as I can tell.
That is watching others have their needs and wants fulfilled,
all leading lives that never cease to leave them truly thrilled.
At times I feel like dying just might be my only hope;
the dead do not with envy, anger, sadness have to cope.
But somewhere deep inside me I naïvely have to say:
“perhaps tomorrow won't be quite as gloomy as today,
perhaps I'll see the day when all my troubles go away.”
And though I know it's likely nought but my naïveté,
that is why, in lonely misery, I choose to stay.
Oneironaut Reviewed by Oneironaut on . Any Poets Here? Does anybody else here write poetry? Share your work here! Come on, don't be discouraged by the fact that you're probably insane if you're good at poetry. Here's a poem I wrote recently that I call "The Mystery Of Misery": On Christmas morn a child wakes to find her mother dead in a pool of scarlet red with a bullet through her head. In Israel, a bus explodes because a pious man thinks his god made a command to kill the Jews upon his land. Rating: 5