Resilience.
My place of solace has become a monument of grief and regret, a token of past sins and wrongs that will always follow and stay with me. My memories are two-sided; being my saving grace and my devouring cancer. Where ever I go, how far I run, I can't escape what I am and what I've done. Can you be so blind as to ignore the under lying decay of the dead? And the pale look, the sober realization of impending doom in the hearts that still beat with warm blood. You can't.. unless you refuse to believe.
I bare witness to sick and twisted things, stuff imagined by minds deluded by hate and a thrist for the tears of the innocent. I have slept, buried and trapped in a remembered existence half-true, but feared and felt nonetheless. I struggle to lift the shackles that bind me to the floor, denying me the right stand and walk amoungst rest.
I refuse to believe in the end, the futility of crusading for precious dreams thought of and conceived by those willing to live. My hands are cold and my fingers frozen, unable to move, stricken with rigor mortis.. and still, I reach out.
I bare witness to sick and twisted things, stuff imagined by minds deluded by hate and a thrist for the tears of the innocent. I have slept, buried and trapped in a remembered existence half-true, but feared and felt nonetheless. I struggle to lift the shackles that bind me to the floor, denying me the right stand and walk amoungst rest.
I refuse to believe in the end, the futility of crusading for precious dreams thought of and conceived by those willing to live. My hands are cold and my fingers frozen, unable to move, stricken with rigor mortis.. and still, I reach out.