Inner Demons
It comes from the darkness, of feelings within.
None name it as friend, no one claims it as kin.
Sometimes at night it desires to feed
On the sorrow and pity of those who take no heed.
Of those who run in, who disturb the hive,
Not a trace will be found, dead or alive.
It has a label of evil to bare,
A name tag of unspeakable things,
A history as a living nightmare.
But take comfort in knowledge of things you have known,
For after a while, you become its home.
There is no escape, no place to hide,
Goodness and light mean nothing aside
From the momentary pleasure that hope can bring,
The possibility, however scarce, of escaping this horrid thing.
There is a chance, all be it slim,
That you, and just you, might fancy its whims
To kill and be killed in a torturous cycle
Of never ending pain, to like nothing, yet, like all.
This is your life, an hour of sand,
Inside of glass, turned over by hand
So that life starts anew and without a trace,
Beginning again, this life, this race.
Take comfort, again, in the things you have known,
For after a while, you become its home.
That hourglass turns, and turns once again,
Starting you over, a continuing trend.
That hope you once harbored is fading away,
Fading from memory with each passing day.
The life you now live is the same life as he,
The "it" you gave into, the same one as me,
Is draining our everyday potentiality.
Too late for us, we are now he,
Taking salvage in others like we used to be.
And so it would seem that our lives have all joined
But our souls remain separate, a phrase we have coined:
'Take a walk in the shoes of others,'
Be it daughters, sons, brothers, mothers.
If you feel their pain then a human you have become.
If not, then welcome to "it", the one
Place to seek refuge and be quite alone.
This is your solitude
This is your place and his home...
This poem is © 2004 SpringSpaz, to whom comments may be sent.
