PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

In this hour of dread. I have seen the mask

A mask of plane make, Simple of design

Not a face of wonder but of madness.

It is within this crimson face I see my end.

Yet I wonder who would show me this in my days?



For the hour is young. The day is old, and there are many tasks.

For them to come to bear, I must plan out a new design

One that will not end in total sadness.

I must seek out those that I call love, and friend.

I must seek them out while I have this blurry gaze.



For I am seeing what can not be true.

Darkness shadowing the light before me.

Things moving were they were once whole.

Endless hours spent watching both front and back.

Never knowing what to do or where to go.



For what I see there must be a lie, for this can not be true

Shadows causing the light to die and allowing me not to see

From the shadows are whispers of an unseen foe

Is this truly an enemy that can not be seen? Or is it just behind my back?

Is this my end, this crimson face in my eyes? Is this really my foe?



This light that I see turning my vision milky.

The endless days marked by the hour.

Then out of this shadowy night,

Is it a false impression, this can not be.

Is it my life that is falling into madness?



No, its true light of the heavenly sky and clouds so silky

No marks the time that I stand up, and great my hour,

I will not go into my own darkness with out a true fight.

So what must a man do for this to be a life?

For I see my family, my loves, my friends, standing with me in sadness.



For them I must rise from the ash of death.

For them I must bear the mask of crimson.

For them I will walk to the ends of every day.

Holding my head up high, so everyone will know death.

For I will be the death of my families enemies!