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A Night, A Soul, A Death
When heavy midnight drapes a silent street,
And stars retreat behind a cloudy curtain,
They rise anew—emerge from the abyss,
Bring countless questions, answers yet uncertain.
Freed from the frail, decaying shells of old,
With piercing gaze and steps which echo faintly,
They creep within; their darkened tales unfold
And shatter his mind’s refuge built so saintly.
A glance through hazy glass is unavailing;
His muffled scream allures a ravens’ flock.
They stare with glee at his unnerving wailing,
While cawing out of rhythm:
Croak,
Croak,
Croak.
The fleeting glow of day is long forsaken,
A distant dream no longer in his sight.
With every breath, the pain within awakens,
And binds him tighter to eternal night.
His soul—devoid of light and steeped in sorrow—
Decays under the burden of regret,
Finds no resolve, nor hope to greet the morrow—
As nightfall reigns, with darkness overhead.
So many sacred thoughts remained unspoken,
Stuck in his throat—a crimson wretched gush.
They're futile now; the seal will stay unbroken,
Apologies are pointless, hopes are crushed.
His head now pounds, a bittersweet sensation.
How many nights has he arisen still,
With no escape, nor chance for yearned salvation?
His fate is sealed, they’re opting for a kill.
The night’s abyss, with shadows thick and drear,
Shall claim him whole—a verdict crystal clear.
And stars retreat behind a cloudy curtain,
They rise anew—emerge from the abyss,
Bring countless questions, answers yet uncertain.
Freed from the frail, decaying shells of old,
With piercing gaze and steps which echo faintly,
They creep within; their darkened tales unfold
And shatter his mind’s refuge built so saintly.
A glance through hazy glass is unavailing;
His muffled scream allures a ravens’ flock.
They stare with glee at his unnerving wailing,
While cawing out of rhythm:
Croak,
Croak,
Croak.
The fleeting glow of day is long forsaken,
A distant dream no longer in his sight.
With every breath, the pain within awakens,
And binds him tighter to eternal night.
His soul—devoid of light and steeped in sorrow—
Decays under the burden of regret,
Finds no resolve, nor hope to greet the morrow—
As nightfall reigns, with darkness overhead.
So many sacred thoughts remained unspoken,
Stuck in his throat—a crimson wretched gush.
They're futile now; the seal will stay unbroken,
Apologies are pointless, hopes are crushed.
His head now pounds, a bittersweet sensation.
How many nights has he arisen still,
With no escape, nor chance for yearned salvation?
His fate is sealed, they’re opting for a kill.
The night’s abyss, with shadows thick and drear,
Shall claim him whole—a verdict crystal clear.
Published Today
Author's Note
Based on lines I wrote at 14 during a tedious history lesson on a rainy October day. Edited and translated since.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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