cryptomancer Posted June 4, 2009 Report Share Posted June 4, 2009 Words echo as voices on my skull’s inner precipices Yelling their subtly changing timbres at my lost mind I spoke not to any save myself, my own empty space, Walls of doors compartmentalize my existence, Breaking each experience and hiding it away. I will no speak ill of any, my own work dies on my tongue, No echoes if left unspoken, I can hide, if I cannot run, So into the void I crawl, deep within my ticking heart, No emptiness completing me, as from the world I depart, For now I cannot restore the woken gift to life. Yet another door is locked, upon that wall of black, I take the knotted flail of pain and cast it once more, Tearing the flesh, burying its tendrils upon my back. Pain unfelt, no need to run, hide in the shadows Let this world within me, slowly come undone. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Wyvern Posted June 11, 2009 Report Share Posted June 11, 2009 Good poem, cryptomancer. You manage to paint an interesting metaphorical picture of your internal emotions here, with the halls of locked doors and echoing voices. The concept of leaving things unspoken out of fear of the echoes they'll evoke is something I can relate to, and I'm sure that many people here can sympathize with the move to hiding deeper and deeper into oneself. I only hope that the Pen still provides you with an outlet to speak to others when you need someone to talk to, and that the world within you is still alive and well. Would certainly be a shame to see a talent like yours go to waste. Take care, and thank you for sharing this here cryptomancer. :-) Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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