Deep in the Forest of Darkness,
Surrounded by mist, a man stands.
And the Lost, the Forgotten
They roam his forest misbegotten
He has no eyes
No lungs for breath
Still, he defies death
And even with no heart,
Nothing cannot ever tear him apart
From what he knows he must do
He cannot love
And he cannot move
Even if he chose to
Because the man, deep in the forest of darkness, is weak and old
His skin, weathered away by the aging of eternal fold
And his life? His life is lonely, tiring, and gray
So why, oh, why does he stay?
Can he not rid himself of the pain from all his crimes?
The people he left to suffer, to die?
The peoples’ cries who he hears throughout everlasting time?
If he could, he would cry
But his sadness is blocked by his sighs,
His sleepless nights, and because he cannot say goodbye…
He waits
In the forest of Darkness
In a place for the lost, the forgotten
Because he does not want anyone to live what he lives
So he waits for the lost to come for help-
And he will help them this time
He will lead them home
Now he just has to wait
YOU ARE READING
A Collection of the Broken
PoesíaThere are voices that cannot be drowned, and writings that cannot be burned. That is because they have found worse and have slowly learned. And this is true. From them, comes the Collection of the Broken.
