I wish my days weren’t filled with dread.
Grief’s always one step behind.
All my friends and loved ones are dead.
My anxiety is tendered and fed
with nightmares of the worst kind.
I wish my days weren’t filled with dread.
At night, sorrow comes into my bed
with promises both cruel and blind.
All my friends and loved ones are dead.
At dawn, I wake with an empty head,
hope’s gone, and memories data mined.
I wish my days weren’t filled with dread.
I don’t want to be the last one led
back to the wheel, karma reassigned.
All my friends and loved ones are dead.
The day when no more tears are shed
I’ll gladly undo the ties that bind.
I wish my days weren’t filled with dread.
All my friends and loved ones are dead.
I used to think Hades would be like this;
the absence of blue, green, white,
water, trees, rams, and clean winds
fragrant with the aromas of fish
and mermaids.
In the landscape where the cosmos
pulverized nature into submission,
I’ve become a philosopher of sorts -
it was either this - or madness.
I’ve had time - deep time -
to become one with
the bombast of silence
that surrounds me.
I’ve listened long enough
to hear my own voice
answer back.
I keep coming back here.
Perhaps the silent stones
are the only true friends
I’ve ever known.
This is where I rage - and weep,
where I search for answers
to my unasked questions,
and where I fall into
a chthonic slumber
in the dusty deep.
This is where I come
to find forgiveness,
for my immortal sins,
so long forgotten,
by everyone but me.


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