Your sword's grown old and rusty...

Still stuck and still trying to jump start my creativity. I found this, which is the first poem I ever wrote, ten or eleven years ago. 

As the grave grass quivers,
             the sun is going down,
             the wild flower are growing
almost all around.

As the light is shining,
             when the daylight hour is past,
             when everyone is leaving,
I stand alone at last.

As the wind is blowing,
              and the trees slowly sway,
              and the tears are silently flowing,
because I have lost my way.

As the sea is churning,
              so tears run down my cheeks,
              so as my eyes are burning,
I silently cry myself to sleep.

As the sun begins it's rising,
              when I wake again,
               then I will not remember
for it's not worth the pain.