No more sadness.

No more be my words forlorn,
I'm done, dispose of them for me,
They must be tired, over worn,
Enough, lets set them free.

No more my poetry, in tears,
To write, no more that sympathy,
They've lived for far too many years,
And grow inside of me.

No more depression in my verse,
I know the words that speak it well,
For long in life they I rehearse,
No more on they to dwell.

No more sorrow as I write,
I think I've said it all too much,
Banish the darkest dregs of night,
And dreams to know her touch.

No more in anguish will I pen,
The words that like a therapy,
Have healed, yet never will amend,
The love I feel in misery.

No more in pain, then, will I type,
Although at times I may give in,
For sometimes I will need to gripe,
Forgive this little sin.

No more sadness in my rhymes,
I vow, but will this war I win?
For though I wear the smile at times,
Still will I hurt within.