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Iniquús

[b]Disaster, that’s what I wrought with my little games.  
The creature who would have been a hero and a martyr  
finally for one moment of pure relevance…

You’d think I’d learn something from it,  
would you not? Well, I did actually.  
I really did. But It’s just so painful  
to shrink back into the shadows,  
I, the sleek and nameless ghoul  
again creeping up on the helpless mortals  
who know nothing of things like me.  
So hurtful to be again the outsider,  
forever on the fringes,  
struggling with good and evil  
in the age-old private hell of body and soul.  

In my isolation now I dream of finding  
some sweetness in the moonlighted chamber,  
one with a tender heart, who reads my writings  
and hears my sad song; one of the idealistic people  
that consider me so grand.  
Poetry and the power of illusion,  
a whispering wishes to the night  
creating dreams that take flight,  
mayhap there is a copy of one of my creations  
on the bedside table with a velvet marker on it,  
I dream of touching and smiling as our eyes meet.  

Maybe someone will find me more charming  
on account of what has befallen me;  
the unexpected horror I’ve seen,  
the inevitable pain I’ve endured.  
It’s the awful truth that suffering can deepen us,  
give a greater luster to our colors,  
a richer resonance to our words.  
That is if it does not destroy us,  
if it does not burn away  
the optimism and the spirit,  
a capacity for visions,  
and the respect for simple  
yet indispensable things.  
Please forgive me if I sound bitter.  
I don’t have any right to be.  
I started the whole thing;  
and I am still in one piece, as they say.  
The hurt and pain I have caused others is inexcusable.  
And surely for that I shall always pay.  


Gypsy Red
7/2012
Written by marielavoue (Gypsy Red)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 7 reading list entries 2
comments 15 reads 988
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