On Wishing For It's Death

The bitter winds that harbor phantom dreams

that feed the captured fiends that stop the flow—

With taloned hands the mind cannot perceive

if frost or lack of blood has brought the cold

to offer us a tightness in the chest.

Where drums of War that pound inside the head

have failed to calm the beast inside your breast

that brings a heart to wishing for it's death.

And yet an icebound death just wouldn't do—

To vanquish all the demons no one sees—

Whose piercing claws present an honest truth

by finding that the pain is what we need

to overcome the sorrows that may thrive

and let us know through pain that we're alive.

First Appeared in Impspired Magazine...

Shadowfall.

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