Poetry: Blossoming River

The Lost Ones

A crime, that's what it is.

Losing all that you've worked for to get here.

All for false hopes and dreams.

Naivety, the only way to describe it.

Your head lost in the clouds.

Or could it just be the fog?

Brought up high, higher than all the stars in the sky.

But what will cushion your fall?

Try to remember.

Those stares full of sorrow and regret.

They see only half of what transpired.

Judging eyes and spiteful remarks.

Leaving nothing more than a bittersweet memory.

You have still yet to learn.

Why do you keep faith?

Why are you in constant search of a silver lining?

Neither the gates of Heaven nor the flaming pit of Hell open arms to you.

No-man's land awaits you.

There is nothing but darkness.

Perpetual emptiness lingers as they look on with apathetic eyes.

Those who you thought would remain at your side — they have left.

Those who you thought couldn't get worse — they've broken all scales.

And the bystanders! — oh the bystanders! — they do nothing more than turn their backs to your pleas.

But yet, here you are.

Though hours of agony await you, you find it within yourself to try.

You make your own light.

Though it is dim, it is bright enough to illuminate your path.

And as everyone around you rises up against you, your vice grip on it never loosens.

So here you are.

Alone on this battlefield.

You hope against hope, and wish against wish.

You fight down to your last breath, just to prove that you're worth it.

But in the end, you fall to your knees.

A prayer for death on your lips.

Mercifully, it answers you — saving you from the eyes that stare, no-man's land, and from your arbitrary form of hope.