“My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains”

my mind as I sit in my overgrown grassy field.

I lie back, and look at the last rays of sunlight,

glimmer across the green leaves of the trees,

that creep up behind me in their sneaky ways.

My head is throbbing as silent tears slip down,

unseen by anyone other than the stars in dark,

my pale cheeks, and my messy, knotted hair.

I curl up in a ball on my side in the blackening night.

I hold my arms tightly around myself, desperately,

trying to keep from completely falling apart.

My choked sobs echo in the woods that reach,

comfortingly, out to me. I am tempted to go;

to climb into my favorite tree, settle in my place,

and just lie there forever-until unconsciousness

becomes my lonely eternity. Animals, insects,

and bugs are dead silent while I cry myself to sleep,

in the soft, caring grass, and my final wish,

before I go under, is that it hadn’t been him;

it hadn’t been me, and that everything would

be back to normal, and it was nothing but,

a sad, frightening, horrible, impossible dream.

Ode to a Nightingale ~John Keats