lost

the sun blasts a soul apart-
crumbling down,
the amber ashes of a battle-scarred heart.
when the quiet of the night
becomes a scene,
left for waking hours, and tear-stained dreams.
buried neck-deep in the mess,
once seen, having never left-
to replay over in the night, endlessly.
only waking to find, one never really sleeps
once one has died. and no one
can close these empty eyes filled to the brim
with satan's spies, who steal the peace
God promised from the start.
No friend to be found in the benign moon shining down
on sunburned, light-forsaken me...
shattering under the implications of "we"
that now is only "I"
This "I" fights the urge to die as well...
for the soul loses what is lost,
but never leaves it behind.
Limbo becomes the faceless friend of wandering men,
trying to mend. Caught in between death
too early and a life too long:
Let pity not mourn those who are gone,
but only those who remain.
For in the sigh of night, that stirring,
screaming, quiet fright-
one must fear the landscape of a lonely plight
laid out behind and before
the closing of a coffin door.
without a sound, I relinquish all our days
to this long empty night-
nights that once WE loved, but now abhor
the feeling lost with them
behind this cold, dark door.