| Written: MAR 8, 2001 |
Flights of devils wing me,
With their back, winged caress.
Into the blackness it beings me,
Up on to the far too high ledge.
Rest is for the wicked,
But I haven’t the strength.
Cocked and locked I await,
Overpower bring me the strength.
No, sadly, it is not to be,
Instead I dwell on the negative.
I wish only not to see,
My putrid and dismal live.
A cracking echoes in the distance,
Was it real, or am I hearing things?
I feel empty, without energy,
Can’t lift my head to see the brass ring.
Cracking becomes a shatter,
So easily pain and hurt builds.
I visualize a broken ladder,
If I could fix it, would I climb?
I hope no, but some days say yes,
Could I be this selfish?
With my happiness fleeting,
Fond memories I do relish.
Looking into the mirror,
I hurt darkly from within.
Ancestors smirk, ever nearer,
Frowning on what we have become.
Panes of the mind threaten to give way;
I can’t give in, no matter what they say.
My mind stays intact for yet another day.
Will I survive myself, I hope, but who can say.
