The End of I
~ another crying poem ~

I'm so lonesome I could cry,
I was born but don't know why.
Spirits whispered I would surely die
So I sing my sorrows to the sky.
Farewell fell world, adieux, goodbye!
Remoter mansions I espy,
With peace to them who therein lie
And all the citadels they occupy.

But like a fable bruised by thunder,
It was a dream that told a lie
More true than tyrant truth could ratify

Thus I ponder groan and sigh
As dawn uplifts her cheekbones high
Portending night's demise and daylight nigh
And vistas yet unblended to the eye,
Whilst I swill in my loathsome sty
Swigging all the bottles dry
In a rage to make all sorrows fly
But hoping still my brains don't fry.

So sing a dirge, you must comply
As Horatio did when he saw Hamlet die
For there shall be no further try,
This must be the end of I.