The Calamitous Void

In the silence of sadness is an ever chilling wind,
Where the hand of death upon your shoulder rests,
Numbing the tissues and slaying the nerves,
Where reaching out leads to many regrets,
A lonely heart… a temple for dismay,
A broken one… a casket for the soul,
Buried deep in the dirt of consequence,
Eternally taking its treacherous toll.

In the silence of heartbreak is a viral hate,
A dissident of enormous proportions infested,
The murdering of a love once enjoyed,
Exhumed into a world of pain detested,
A lifeless smile… a mask of agony,
A heartless soul… a crown of thorns,
Into the shadows of tormenting screams,
This heart of blackness mourns.

In the silence of rejection is a tragic tale,
An affliction of disastrous destruction,
Eats away at the ventricles and veins of life,
Plunging the heart into an abyss of dysfunction
A scorned hope... a funeral hymn,

A dying dream... a fatal incision,

Into the calamitous void I stumble slow,
Until my expiration frees me from my prison.

Swan Song

They say ‘tis better to have loved, and lost, than never loved at all,
But that’s of little consolation when you’re burned and take the fall,
The quandary of the invested heart that is sadly turned away,
Is to try and heal itself amidst destruction and decay.

Forever rusted by the rains of change and chaotic twists of fate,
Befuddled in a misery compounded and fueled by hate,
As wretched as the weeping soul that howls in dismay,
Until the will to live that rests inside, withers itself away.

So insidious, the destruction to the nerve endings of hope,
Hanging, suffocating like a neck tangled in rope,
Battling with the feelings that now leave me so verbose,
The self-imposed hatred planted deep within me grows.

Perhaps I am too sensitive, and susceptible to pain,
And maybe my attempts to harden up are truly all in vain,
The way that I have learned to love has always been completely,
But it seems that doing so will soon take my soul away so sweetly.

They say ‘tis better to have loved, and lost, than never loved at all,
But that’s of little consolation when you’re burned and take the fall,
Especially days like today, when I lament all that’s gone wrong,
And every ounce of all I love will sing its final swan song... and be gone.