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A dark poem about doing what it takes to survive an abuse and torture filled past |
Upon This Soul by Keaton Foster Upon this soul, There are bones. Killer be kind, Whispered most times. I was sorry In those moments. No longer Have I since been. Unforgivable Are such sins. Meaning and motive Matters not. Immovable Was the force. Undeniable Was the cause. Dead is death, Life, such a mess. What has been Will never be again. Suffer they did, Further I must. I will pay Every damn price. As I always have, As I always will. I am right When I’m wrong. Because what I know Surpasses all else. The darkness falls, An emptiness sprawls. Forever it goes, Always does it show. The truth of this fight, The reason for such spite. Upon this soul, Everything is. God knows, He won’t forgive. How could he ever? I am not his. Nor is he mine, But regardless of Lacking allocation, I shall be doomed. For all that I’ve done, And what I’ve become. These hands are mud, Clean they can’t become. My eyes are sunk, Deeper than perception. This mind, a prison Within confinement. Beyond reasonable, My callous heart screams. Fighting to explode, Tearing itself apart. As the reality of life Holds it together. Upon this soul, There are bones. On my hands, There is blood. Things that can’t, Won’t ever be undone. I did what I did, Willingly I’ll admit. Survival, The greater need. Doing all that has been Within the confines of this. My own preservation Has always meant more. I am right When I’m wrong. Because of what I know, And what I’ve been shown. I wish I could change, But of course, It’s far too late. God won’t forgive, He will only judge. I am not his, He is not mine. But by his rules, And the rules Of all humankind, I will pay Every damn price. Upon this soul, There are bones. Maybe they deserved it, Then again, Maybe I did And still do? Upon This Soul Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2008-2019 |