Poem: Sitting

Eyes dripping wet from tears that blew by.

Not knowing if you should wipe them or let them flow like the Alabama river.

Thinking about the days where you lived wild and free.

To know realizing that those days cannot be.

Sitting at home all alone and no friend or foe to call.

Is this it?

Is this what my life has come to be.

You pray to father, but never to the holy spirt.

Scared of the destruction you may cause from you past ways.

Still wanting to be better, but do not know the ways for it to be.

Now the days are ending, and the tears are sitting not knowing where to go.