8-27-05
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How many years has it been? Was it three, or was it thirty? Everything bottled up within Haunts me without mercy. In my dreams, I will never forget That one day that began this all. No manner of labor can pay off this debt That holds me midnight ‘til dawn. I am cursed that I must always remember The folly of my final years; ‘Twas in a cold, dark eve in December The beginning of the end drew near. I gave up my life, a young girl to protect, I thought it righteous deed; But inside of it now, I can never forget The nightmare to which it did lead. Could noble death pardon sins of the past? All iniquities of my heart? Apparently not, for I see now at last The place I went to is dark. So easily forgiven, was that what I thought? Forgiven for answering one call? The eternity after which I had sought Was not where I landed at all. Infinite darkness, always consuming me; I am alone, to sit in shame. And even in silence of death I still see That there is no one else to blame. This is my fate, there is naught I can do. Yet even the silence seems to allude, That no matter what else I think to be true, There is a solace in solitude. |
Notice the recurring theme of an evening in December? Originally, I got a weird idea for a story, but as that went nowhere, I decided to write a poem instead. I have no idea where this guy is. Prison? Hell? Kansas? Who knows. (Okay, bad joke.) I came up with the last line first--it sounded SO cool. I still like it. I have those last four lines up on the heading of my Xanga page.