PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The mind haunts the body,

the soul haunts my form,

and this tainted existence,

leaves me tortured and torn.

What of my birth?

What of my death?

‘Tis pity heartache,

leaves all to dread.



And still I sleep on,

though nightmares awake,

thrash in my slumber,

my vision they take.



I see true darkness,

that in my heart,

eventual pity,

upon my part.

I thwart my existence,

what is it for?

To live and to die?

Surely there’s more.



But I’ll accept for now,

that this is my fate,

to live on like this,

to die too late.

And in the ground they will bury,

to the skies I fly,

a silent whisper,

in the corner of each eye.



And I creep on as envy,

and all of hell's hate,

‘till the last wildfire,

has died at heavens gate.