Poem

Forlorn

No one knows what it’s really like,
No one ever will,
Locked in our own private torment,
Our own private hell.

I’m sure that we have all been there,
In that place, alone,
Where the clouds gather and darken,
And the skies are torn.

Nothing can ease that deep brooding,
It seems at the time,
But clouds lift and thin every morning,
The outlook is fine.

Put dark thoughts away in a cupboard,
Hide clouds in the sun.
Look back in a while when you can,
You will find them gone.

(So I did refine it a bit after all!)