The Book of the Dead.

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I wish I was not a dark cloud, or a perpetual rain upon this earth,
I wish I was not a gloomy forecast, or a dreary day and its even darker night,
not just a shadow from a distant light.

I wish I could believe like others do,
that I could rest this weary mind of mine, and all its heavy shadows casted upon my soul.
I wish that hope was still encapsulated within me, like the goodness children believe.

But I am not a child, and this is not a life.
I do not possess the mind of others, I am stuck with mine.
However heavy the heart, or lost the soul, it is I who walks this footpath alone.
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