Groping unheard toward the semblance
Of what was or might have been
Finding the quaking of despair wrenching at ones body
Feeling unreal and desolate
Enshrouded in the mist of uncertainty
Listening breathless for even a faint whisper
To come in reply from the dark;

Mortal misery most anguished
Embodied in ones malleable heart;
The soul itself writhing in deathlike throes of agony
But never giving up the one, last flicker.
Some strength is left somewhere.
Somehow it will grow again.
Once more the rose of summers bloom
Early in spring kiss'd with dew
The hand of fate will not claim
Their chosen victim for another day.

So now I give myself to the arms of sleep
The immortal deigned Protector of Sanity.

Back