Desolation

In the groves of the mind, one does roam, Where whispers of sorrow endlessly bemoan. Echoes of pain through the silent glades, As darkness descends, knees bend in shades. Lost in the renowned labyrinth of deep despair, Tangled in vines of anguish, hearts lay bare. Beneath the weight of a leaden firmament, The soul, a barren wasteland, does lament. Like wilted petals in autumn's cruel gales, Wither 'midst trees in desolate veils. In the depths of the heart, a storm doth rage, Engulfed by the tumult, lost in its dark cage.