"The Valley of Death lies ahead."
My spirit cries to me.
Still as I tread on, holding breath,
Ever so gingerly;
I realize, perchance by wit -
Nay, morelike by misgiving,
What we forfeit, failing to apprize
The Valley of the Living.
In childhood I raced the day -
Shadow both 'hind and 'fore...
In ev'ry way misunderstood,
Till I could run no more.
The prize I sought 'er out of reach,
That sense of true belonging;
That, like a leech, so bleeds all thought,
To leave you naught but longing.
Longing that pines, in of itself,
For love, yet a mystery...
Abandoning self to wreck, inclined
To catch up with Destiny;
Which sucks, once found, love like a sponge
Through the conflagration...
Welling from dungeons of abuse,
Bound in alienation.
I've ripped to shreds all loved, all hoped,
All held in high regard.
Dispassion groping the severed heads,
As I drive on, the ravin bard...
To sing my song to souls, but lost,
I nevermore shall speak to -
The maddening cost I ride headlong
Through darkness I can't see through.
Blood on my hands, scars on my wrists,
Ready, once more, for battle...
Passion exists, a withered strand
Yet tied to my death rattle.
I question not the nature of things,
For somewhere in that valley below...
The silence sings, time is forgot,
And even darkness casts a shadow.
I strike! It quivers in that heart
Which drives me to this end;
I draw and kiss the bloody dart,
My last-my only friend!