On Things Past

by Ed Robinson

I have no inspiration; now
The darkness is my only friend.

Why is life so dark
That only the gloom befriends me
And offers its heart?

Where does life go but on to death?
Why must we face the lonely night?
Why do I feel alive at night
And in the day see only death?

What is in my heart
That truly frightens me
And makes my life dark?

The darkness is my dearest friend;
I have my inspiration, now.

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