Lonely Is

You're alive but yet not be living

and the room still is the same.

Alive and yet not one of them seeing,

none of them seeing the pain.

Deep within you dwell,

looking around you forever.

Living in the deepest of hells,

sins, and slights are worn on you like fine leather.

Tomorrow will come,

yet another of days.

Deep in you is where your soul,

for salvations it does pray.

Fear of the past holds you down till you're old,

scars of your slights and sins, on your soul, doth stay.

Emboldened by the past,

fearing not of the future.

Over the next hill holds the keys to the next, and the last,

your souls been caught by the past.

You fear the reaper no more,

praying that he knocks.

Anxiously you await for him at your door,

tired of pasts keeping you from moving, tired of pasts, tired of the power,

the power of its locks.