Unearthed

This poem is one of my favourites and one of my best, in my opinion. It's totally different to what I usually write about, yet so much to the point in some situations.



UNEARTHED

I feel it.
The burning, the smoking, the icy spirals, the depression.
The cold above and the dark below, separate, melding into me.
False glare fades as ghostly beams cut through my being,
And I weep.
I weep for him,
I weep for her,
I weep for you,
But mostly, I weep bitterly for the thing that is myself.

Crimson and ebony intersperse, streaking.
My soul burns with the agony.
My soul freezes with the anguish.
A mind once liberal is locked behind pain.
Locked within itself,
Tortured, throbbing, tormented,
Hope swaying desperately on the edge of sanity,
The edge of reality.

Reflections are obscure,
Multiplied and unknown.
I search for myself,
I search for the person who I am.
Imprisoned in the core of the shell I wear,
A shell that may not break.

And I kneel,
I kneel at the feet of my soul,
A soul I do not recognize,
And I gaze pitifully at what was me.
What I cannot reclaim,
What I do not know.

Yet I strive for my spirit,
My inner self,
The person I was,
The person afflicted by dreams,
Afflicted by their own wishes.

I endeavour for my perception,
I struggle through the darkness that was placed upon me,
The emptiness that attacked.
And I wait,
I wait in vain for discovery,
Wait for the unearthing of me.