The Week Poem by Shannon Moyer

All my toil of heartache
Turned to headache
With haste unparalleled,
Surpassing my mistake
Taking form in shootng pains
Through my body and my soul
What soul?
It is a being over which I cease
To have control.
Its anger knows no bounds
And its love no girth
An endless sea of misery,
That has no form or worth.
I have loved and I have lost
I have gained and I have suffered
Loses of which
I dare not speak
So I sit, in my heap
Nursing a soul that never sleeps
With no goal of which to speak
And no appetite to eat
For my heartache's turned to headache
And it's only halfway
Through the week.

Shannon Moyer