Whispers in the Night

In the beginning,
they were mere whispers in the night.
Voices in the dark
that penetrated my dreams
and vanished in my waking hours.

The nights were my quietude,
the moments of my solitude.
Darkness hid all my pains.
The heartaches. The disappointments. The tears.

The voices that altered my dreams
were ghosts that roamed within my soul,
and turned them into nightmares.
They became assertive. Repulsive.

The nights no longer mattered.
My loneliness was trodden upon,
broken into tiny pieces of thoughts
that splintered on the floor of despair.

I lost the days of my youth,
interred within the memories of my hopelessness.
Hearken to the beats of my heart,
for I have sorrow; I have desperation.

My days were invaded with sounds
that pierced the eardums of my peace.
They no longer whispered.
They screamed long and without ceasing,
deafening deep into the very core of my being.
My mornings became shambles of waking
as rumbles that broke through my defences.

The nights blended into days,
like the wars that took refuge in my conscience.
They clamored for attention,
broke down my wits,
and transformed my sanity
into a monstrous sickness.

My whole being became the center
of a massive din that confused me.
I no longer had days nor nights.
The voices became my weaknesses.
They attacked my inner strength.
They viciously besieged my serenity.
The dakrness consumed me.

I was desensitized to the warmth
and glow of the sun; numbed as I was,
I reached out for comfort, for the wonder of love,
for the sanity of mind.
I longed for peace.
Is there salvation for me?