PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

in what dark recesses of torture remain

exists a dreaded seed for us to obtain

to keep us sane and deliver us from evil

so goes the creed of an everlasting people

unending doubt resonates to be

impermanance rooted in an everlasting dream

scarcity of hope glimmering in dusk

prevention of fortune in a world of luck

forever told from stories past

eerily reminiscent of perpetual task

systems of new destroyed wisdom once known

for all apart of a world unsown

grimmace and malice plagued once more

in dire times that conjured vile scorn

but it was hope that was given once last chance

now grows a tree from the seed of our past

It is a lie. All a lie. The darkest hour always comes in the night. Always. The hours of uncertainty, of fear, of crushed hope, of tear. The hours of hardship and sadness, the hours of lost love and madness. The hours no man dares to wake, those hours, these are the hours in which I spake. The man who dwells in these hours has but negativity in his mind, no peace can he find. He shifts to in fro, tosses and turns shakes the covers and is restless below. He cannot see, he cannot speak, he cannot think, he cannot sleep. He is lost within himself. Within himself he is filled with what he fears the most. He is filled with fear itself. Fear of the unknown, fear of lost opportunity, fear of lost love. He knows not but how to fear in the night, he knows not but of his heart filled; jealousy, anger, scorn, and hopes unfulfilled. He hasn't a moment throughout the day, not until that is he lay at night. He may pray with all his might, attempt to scribble his thoughts by the dimming bedside light. But this brings him nothing, no hope, to tranquility, no delight. His heart yearns for that unseen, that small little glimpse of he on who his heart is keen. It is she who keeps in this state of unrest, she who placed on his heart duress. He just wishes to hold her so, but she doesn't longer love him; No.

No, no, no, no! What a vile word is that of no! One without cause, one without reason, a no for no's sake, a no for nothing for him to know! Just a No because a No is a No. No! He willn't accept that No as an end, he willn't see it, his resolve will not bend. For she will not be sharing these hours, not near, not far, not in his arms or in her heart. It is but the lowly who cannot grasp sleep. He is who is to suffer the enduring pain of No's harvest to reap.