Poet of a Dark Age

Poet Of A Dark Age


He peers into the darkness that reveals his life

It disgusts him at the sight of it

He knows he is bound to walk alone in pain

He wrestles to overcome his fate, but he cannot

He tries to be bright and loved, but he is turned away by all

A twisted creature of sadness and guilt

A prisoner in his own doomed life

Before him colors fade and memories die

Love turns cold, and joy becomes death

He has died a thousand times and will die a thousand more

All that he touches is corrupted to his fate

A world without care he feels alone, for he is alone

Snow melts and roses welt in his path

Sadness and darkness follow in his wake

All is lost for him, a lost child of dispair

A fallen star of greatence

People of gray and white pass by him

No one notices his hooded head

No one feels his pain or hears his crys

Only night, an old ally, knows his pain

It comes now, on graceful wings of silence

He reaches out and embraces it in his arms

He feels the cold, yet comforting, grasp of his only friend

The night bends around him to protect him from harm

Slowly icy tear drops of death and anger fall from his face

Each caring the last ounces of life from him

Blood pours from his many wounds

The blood steams as it contacts the ground

It prints words from his darkest heart

It tells of his fall from glory

It tells of his morn for freedom

It tells of his lust to live once more

An icy tear shatters in the blood

He is a shadow of passed times

He is a dying body of reproach

He is a poet of a dark age