PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Darkness is an absolute sickness as it drowns out all signs of life. Reality itself comes to a halt when suspense hangs heavy in the air. There is a question unforgiving that has been chipping away at a soldiers psyche; dropping his late night practice from its hinges. Preventing him, who unmistakably reeks of fear, from pleading remorse. As thoughts of retreat push irrefutably for their release as to break the monotony. The impudence of such events concurs silence even to the simplest of creatures. So he shan’t be fessing up to such tasks meagerly as they deserve not life but death. Death being an invoking relinquishment of torture which calls this fool by his name. Foreboding is it not, and even then he says “The nights are so quiet, to the point of making me wretch as I am uneasy” “I have noticed" exclaims another “Even now we hang our heads up high, are there not others present to relieve us of such a coiled embrace?” After spouting words of deceit he then asks “Ah and yet such relief is for the timid is it not? For in relief there is not a reason to live.” The man in hearing this buckles at the knees just as sweat drips forthwith down over a single brow. He’s heard not such words of truth in his life for this sung directly to his soul as a sirens song. Mesmerized by the sweet nectars this entailed the man calmly falls off into a daze, allowing it to come to an end. A release of mortal restraints would be more than that of a Godsend, but a promise. “I will make it quick brother” he says “For nothing deserves to suffer a lie, even yourself.” Then without another word the man falls still, dead. For darkness is a sickness and those who will suffer it haven’t the will to bear it no more.