A Quiet Ending

I love to write about souls beaten in abodes hidden and the intense pain within I choose to write even when words injure everything We exist in stages, Some as innocent as children spinning intently in a contrived whirlwind Others testing the solemn comfort of motherly jest On lonely nights we ride the stolen embrace of soiled distinction While misery soars on the wings of forgotten pasts And thus I elect to write We do not belong, We are a passing inconvenience of identity and creed separate from the chosen A cadre selects his world, blue lights and toast We seek survival from the remnants Still, we emerge and continue to write and attempt to laugh We defied our innermost inflections to stay sane Bore the twisted accoutrements of borrowed robes that defined our broken blackness Cried in silence when winds ceased to carry each defiant mood And so the imposition of calm endured Years pass and the writing ensues Until whispers turn into screams Turned these strands of nothingness into sins we must bear An eternal rejection of a wasted eternity… an unbearable stage of this confusing lie A writer’s dream A soul’s unbearable existence I write again, Words of this nature are pasted on fake smiles and need release Why write when none can see… every sentence is a question unanswered Why cry when none can hear… our dreams rely on darkness to heal But still I write My stunted love requires simple words to perish The screeching pace of youth requires a quiet ending… and so I write