Survivors Remorse
The night’s blackness embraces me,
As I walk these haunted halls.
I think my thoughts and set them free,
As the banshee mournfully calls.
Hallowed grounds on which I tread,
I have been there time and again.
Sharing my thoughts with poets now dead,
At night the veil becomes so thin
Roosters and Shadows haunt my soul,
Calling my name from a far.
Though live poets constantly console,
I still suffer from this scar.
Writing my lines in the darkened hours,
Chasing the poet they could have been.
Lines on Worms and Darkened Towers.
I know that I will never win.
Smoke pours from my lungs and pen,
And I write yet another tale.
The darkened visions held within.
Yet in my own mind again I fail.
Why is it that I remain in this life?
While the others have moved on.
An invariable victim of pain and strife.
I write my way to another dawn.
Haunted I am by their memory,
Their voices I hear in the night.
Consumed by their horrid tragedy.
Filling my being with their fright.
So I resign myself unto my fate,
Until it is that I must join them,
Writing my tales again while it’s late,
Their last remaining poetic gem.
By JToddUnderhill
© 2008 JToddUnderhill
(All rights reserved)
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