Weary

Shall I know no rest?
Am I destined to feel
only turbulence and
turmoil that is too real?

Though I lay in contentment,
my heart cannot rest.
My body requires solace;
my mind denies the request.

The world all around continues to turn.
All nations will never take time to learn.
My emotions just continue to churn.
My soul is left only to burn.

I toss in shadow, attempting to dream
in a colour that isn't black.
My eyes shoot open without warning
because I feel under attack.

Glaurung's fell voice tears at me
and tells a story of darkness.
My heart is inclined to believe
though my mind otherwise hearkens.

Such stench of dishonesty
fills my lungs to the very limit.
I become toxic to all others
who attempt to save me from it.

I grasp their hands and try so hard
to pull myself free from the ink.
My fears come back and my grip slacks
and I wind up back in the stink.

I become numb, unfeeling,
a mere robot on the conveyor.
My soul is caged within me
as another force becomes key player.

Doubts are sown within my heart.
I grasp hard onto Gurthang.
The dull point pierces me with ease,
and the blade, with truest voice, sang.

My words, they bring no peace to me,
though I try, hard as I might.
I succumb to dark words, moods
and beliefs as day becomes night.

I feel the breaking point approaching.
These words may be at an end.
I may have to cast away
and break all my pens.