A poem about the lost creatures that I use to be and how they hide deep inside me. |
-Shadows of This Heart- by Keaton Foster Tick, tock There goes the clock Counting down the end Leaving no room for mistakes Just like so many choices That cannot be taken back Time has become more of a god Then anything else in my life Eagerly I write these words Sincerity laden with hope That I do not have. Monsters and demons Without any reason Shadows of this heart And the former creature That I was once forced to become So many terrible things live Like lost abandoned children Fearful of being beaten They make themselves Hard to find even though They are slowly starving to death. Self-preservation means nothing The redundancy of their existence When one finally succumbs There are always others To takes their place No esteem is held for them No regard is considered theirs They are unquantifiable nothing Obliterated beings of damnation. Existing like an infestation of bugs Screaming to be exterminated Threatening if they are not Then they will strike back Infecting their own version of justice Such a concept is too far simple With regard to what they intend If they are further provoked They will go to the edge without hesitation. Shadows of this heart Live from one beat to the next Life, such an impossible wilderness I know what I am saying Because I know who I am Closer to one, both them and I become A unified front of beings combined Into one over-indulgent narcissist Who can’t get enough of his own thoughts Even if at times, they make not a damn bit of sense… Shadows of This Heart Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2012. |