Hark! The clamoring of frightened spirits,
the tremor of vile memories stolen,
shakes these nightly haunts.
Expiring visions reverberate onerous sleep–
A dead resonance,
dream echoes of a dying life.
Tho’ it is not I that die, no not yet.
brought from the bowels of irrelevance—
where lives flounder in man’s ignorance.
She holds, stately frightened,
begging God’s deliverance (look her eyes).
But no god of worth listens. They never do.
And slowly she fades withering in Death’s horror—
as he takes her innocent blood
she bleeds the floor red.
‘n again Death has claimed the hour,
in death-rite, where justice is never read.
So it goes in every agonizing tick.
This cold death-brazen darkness.
The dying, the suffering toll.
Where remorse falters,
‘n frightened teardrops grow—
upon crimson stained floors.
In a world refusing love,
with their eyes turned inward,
unwilling to bear,
the horrors endured
by other sentient souls.