Why am I so adamant that I need to fight.
Feeling this chasm of pain every night.
Why am I so adolescent about my plight.
Longing for the love, the affection, of no-one in sight.
Why am I so uncertain within myself.
Desiring relief and a remedy for my health.
Why am I so sorry for my lost time on the shelf.
Pining after my souls drowned wealth.
Why am I still shaken, afraid of life.
Thinking there’s only loneliness without my wife.
Why am I still heartsick, pierced like a knife.
Wondering if there’ll ever be anymore afterlife.
Ivor Steven (c)
“Afterlife” is an older poem of mine, and today I’ve revised and re-edited the words slightly. The original poem was written in July 2012, and feeling in a reflective mood as the New Year approaches, I decided to post this version of the poem, from my past.