After all these forlorn, bygone years,
it turns out – I am a fool.
My mind is filled with petty fears.
I worry much and lose my cool.
After all these grudging days of past,
I have come to this lonely place.
At what I’ve done, I stand aghast.
My inner fears I cannot face.
After all these nights of cold and frost,
I haven’t found a single light.
The hopes I had, have all been lost.
My death, so near, yet out of sight.
After all these stupid words I’ve said,
I go to bed and have my sleep.
I do not care what lies ahead –
My thoughts are dull and not that deep.
After all these wasted happy hours
I feel joyful and content.
My life is sweet bed of flowers.
I have no reason to lament.
*Painting “Resting on the Vine” by Carl Spitzweg, 1845.
Homo est Machina 
I love this poem, especially the last paragraph. That’s the sound in mind.