That makes me terribly depressed,
For I am not my friend,
I know myself too well,
Enemies march home together,
My company is no company,
I try to talk to myself,
Certainly not in public,
For I’d be taken away,
I try to talk to myself,
And I’ve got nothing to say.
Another day,
The few words that come are Hollow and Hurt,
A dead Rose, as the morning turns,
Can be full of thorns, that burn,
‘Happy is he who sometimes learns,
From Solitude, and does not yearn,
For a more complete and sounding future’
Silence is golden,
But may follow the tragic way of the goose,
Who in the past laid the golden eggs.
Silence is Life’s Shadow dwindling away,
When there is Nothing more to say,
And really, no good reason to even stay……