Child of a dark consummation.
Betwixt painful hopelessness,
And the peace born of it.
Absolved of the need to struggle,
No light to hide from in darkness.
Gaze turned inward and seeking,
Embracing the succour of emptiness.
What is Death then, that it should be feared?
How Should I not face Him,
Unbent, unbroken and of my own volition?
I fence upon the strand of River Styx.
Trysting with Death, perchance to find peace,
A warm bath of waters run red rose’s bloom.
For, in that sleep, comes sight and knowing,
Revealing those with their false claims.
Not knowing us. None of them–
Nay, not even one of them!
No wisdom to look beyond,
Mourning veils, draping truths ignored.
Blind to impassioned and riddled regret.
This is mine own soul. Restat meam!
Nay, I shall not surrender this day.
Trembling, I find a way to rise.
Never shall I pardon them,
The onerous guilt that be theirs!
Only when expired, can they see,
That creature within which, by them,
Hast been made of me.
*Restat meam! (Latin) – It remains mine!
–Background Photography by Ed Wojtaszek