A Shadow of Conscience
His face turned red though not of rage
His hair grew gray but not of age
Locked inside, chained with steel
Alone in the dark he could only feel
The breathless silence
Growing heavy on his wounds
And the crown of thorns
Pricking the nerves of his skull
He could smell the darkness
And taste its bitterness
He could hear his scars
Screaming for freedom
The scars that reigned his skin
For almost years of dullness…
Smells of dead rats covered the cell
But he, instead of disgust
Felt calmed, secured in his shell
For at least now he knew
It never left him, his crew
The friends he stayed with for years
And who helped him fight his fears
Just being there before his eyes
Was enough to let him feel
That he never suffered alone.
The wind of the bitter snow
Stroke him like knives
Shuddering, he tried let go
Of his chained hands and legs
But failed greatly as he greeted
Surrendering not with grief
But with an open heart
Just like all the passed days
Where when saw
A glimpse of hope
He tried to grasp it
But failed tremendously
He got used to defeat
Accustomed to sorrow
Bleeding to his feet
He felt nothing but hollow
So sad in soul
And hurt in body
He wished he could fall
And join his friends’ destiny
Where he could lie down
Dead, breathless, but peaceful
Rather than being alive
Desperate, hurt and rueful
Rather than living in a grave
Engraved in regrets and pain
Where no one can ever save
Him except he himself…
Copyright © Yara Rouhana | Year Posted 2009
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