thoughts consumed by darkness.
Overwhelmed in pain by the wounds that bled,
and a decision to make myself heartless.
The ink I wrote with had gone dry,
my feelings no longer stirred.
I lost all will and tears to cry,
And my voice was no longer heard.
Doubts ate me,
rhetoric devoured me.
Then hope embraced me,
And now I've found peace.
Always questioning the light at the end,
I was travelling through a long and dark cove.
and as the light was growing I wondered if this was my end,
but no twas the glimmer that embraces; something called hope.
I escaped the darkness with a rope of life,
and I found my pen again and my will to write.
Quietly I heard again those very same symphonies,
the ones that blessed me with poetic sight.
My heart is whole again as the ink is flowing,
And the sun shines brightly whilst the breeze is blowing.
An ambience so pure like the angels in serenades,
And until death I shall reap what I was once sowing.