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Mists of Past and Present
In their shattered shadows I live this day with only an illusion to breath.
And within this graveyard of time's graying mists, lives a past ever present, never in rest.
The heroes, long fallen to raptures of need, had tempted the wastelands of fate.
Never to amend the passing of debts to those they cast to depth's darkened gate.
All words and passages owned by R. H. Maxwell. No text of this, or any subsequent additional text or passages without written permission by R. H. Maxwell, is permitted by International and United States of America copyright laws.
And within this graveyard of time's graying mists, lives a past ever present, never in rest.
The heroes, long fallen to raptures of need, had tempted the wastelands of fate.
Never to amend the passing of debts to those they cast to depth's darkened gate.
All words and passages owned by R. H. Maxwell. No text of this, or any subsequent additional text or passages without written permission by R. H. Maxwell, is permitted by International and United States of America copyright laws.
Published 26th Mar 2018
| Edited 11th May 2018
Author's Note
I have much more to add to this poem's start which began writing itself at the ripe, old age of 11.
I have lived with these demons for so many years, I thought them imprisoned for life. Though now, as I've age aged to a point where these once, steeled bars have rusted though their containment, there is one tiny, fragile flame of Hope's candle that still flickers to show the demons I've not given up. Again, thru Hope, I trust exposure to this light will begin exorcising some of these bastards.
I have lived with these demons for so many years, I thought them imprisoned for life. Though now, as I've age aged to a point where these once, steeled bars have rusted though their containment, there is one tiny, fragile flame of Hope's candle that still flickers to show the demons I've not given up. Again, thru Hope, I trust exposure to this light will begin exorcising some of these bastards.
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