As I'm torn between fantasy and reality,
My mental state is the epitome of abnormality.
My mind is broken, shattered in two.
It is a curse that each night I relive through deja vu.
Some want blood, others, prayer,
While all I desire is to curl up and despair.
Some dark and twisted,
Others, more pure than I could bear.
Their voices taunt me, both day and night,
As they steal away my one hope, my one light.
Now I'm left nothing but a mere glimmer,
Which I hold on to tightly as this torment continues to cynically simmer.
I lay here desperate, looking to that long dead star,
As it's light still shines upon me, a ray of hope,
As it is the single beam that allows me to cope.
When my inner and outer demons, both the white and the black,
When they appear, I take it all, each taunt, jeer and attack.
I do this because even a glimpse,
Even a thought of that fading glimmer,
Is enough to keep my heart abeat,
Enough to keep me sane.
It is enough to help me evade defeat,
Enough to heal my broken heart and battered brain.
It is so because its beautiful light continues to shimmer,
From each memory and thought, even if it is growing thinner.
The Imps wait for their chance to strike,
They wait by day,
They wait by night.
They await the dying of the light.
YOU ARE READING
The Dying of the Light
PoetryThis poem can be interpreted in many ways however those that I intended are as follows; A) Someone dying and their loved ones trying to cope. B) The struggles of those with dementia. C) Watching a past love from afar, knowing that you can no longer...
