A fire, cold as a winter night, burns in my soul.
A longing for sweet revenge and for beautiful redemption.
How far does a wingless bird fly, I wonder?
Of blood and steel and magic I am made;
created to disrupt and destroy those who would oppose me.
The melodies of the world sound within me,
a sad recollection of lost things and broken words.
Who am I to judge those who have walked before me?
Who am I to be visited by the gods themselves?
Who am I--of colored hair and changing eyes?
Or, perhaps of highborn stars or golden earth.
Am I so special to deserve this fate?
I dream all night yet do not sleep.
I never sicken or become drunk on liquor.
My blood burns and boils with starlight magic.
My heart beats, yet I do not feel it.
I see the seasons change, feel the weather
wreak its havoc on this doomed earth.
I see those who have left all notions
of life after death behind and I feel nothing.
I will go back to my home,
which I visit every day and night,
and no one will follow.
I will be alone.
YOU ARE READING
Shadowscript
PoetryThis book is a collection of poems I've written over the years. For a long time, I wrote poetry as a vent for my emotions during my darkest times. Sometimes, I'd remove myself from the poem and write it as a way to lift myself back up again. Sometim...
