The Storm

The Storm

I’m walking down a long dirt road
as the rain falls heavily down on me refusing to slow.
I drag a shovel behind me as I lethargically make my way through the mud-covered trenches
of a battle field lined with dead rotting bodies over all of its inches.
This is the home I’ve come to know,
the home I’ve come to dread through the constant falling of rain and snow.
This place was once alive, bright and full of life,
a place I imaged I would raise a wonderful family with a great wife,
but that all came crashing down with the drop of Atom.
I’ve been sent spiraling into darkness and tormented by a phantom.
Heavy rain falls daily as a war rages on day and night.
Look deep into my eyes and you will see the diming of my internal light.

The phantom that torments my soul and decimates my body is an invader not welcome in my home.
His goal is to add my body to the war-ravaged battle field
and lie me side by side with my long-lost friend Jerome.
He wants my legacy to be tarnished and left with no appeal.
My death will be reduced to nothing more than a cold day memory.
My grave stone will have a one word summary.
Failure.
I will be remembered as a failure if the phantom wins this war.

I stop walking on a soft plot of land and light up a cigarette.
If today is my last day, cancer is not something I have to sweat.
If today is my last day, the words I have written is my legacy I leave behind.
At least the phantom that haunts me will be exposed and won’t be allowed to continue hiding in the shadows where it’s safe and confined.
It might win the war against me, but not the war against us all.
Sending it back to the 7th layer of hell is my battle call.
At least your eyes will be open to the invisible fiend ragging a war against us all.
At least you will all now be awake to hear my call.

It’s not enjoyable being trapped in such a dark place with this fiend.
As I dig my grave, at least with these words it will no longer be quarantined.
Shovel load after shovel load of dirt is dug up and removed from the ground.
I won’t be able to cover myself up so hopefully my body is eventually found.

I stand on the edge of my freshly dug grave and take out a gun I’m carrying.
Thinking about my impeding death and staring at the gun is terrifying.
I place the gun in my mouth then take it out.
I place the gun against my head then pull it down.
I rub my forehead as tears fall from my eyes.
I’m not sure I’m ready yet to say goodbye.
The world I life in is dark and the pain I feel immense,
but I will be ending my own life and at what expense?

I feel a hand grab ahold of my arm and lift the gun back against my head,
Whisper in my ear, “it’s time for you to find out what it’s like to be dead.”
The fiend holds me tight urging me to pull the trigger.
I’ve done all of this digging, it doesn’t want me to leave it to waste.

What do I do?
Do I pull the trigger?
Do I put an end to my life here today?
Or do I pull the gun down
and continue to war yet another day?
Lost in limbo I look to the sky.
Lord, is it time for me to say goodbye?
Lord, are you there?
Lord, are you listening?
Lord…