Standing In The Ashes

When darkness arises,

the self is know.

A vivid memory,

another marred page in a locked diary;

denials die away,

like fog in a breathtaking dawn.

It wasn't a question of truth,

nor was it the sake of security,

but the gratifying secret of the soul.

The anguish that came with silent battles,

fearfully clinging to a shimmering hope;

yet her shaky breath hollers out the known in my ears.

Denials do not simply shy away from the flame.

Regret does not remain buried in the depths of longing forgetfulness.

Her whispers had violated my conscious,

she was the reason for this madness.

The girl who was the moon to my sun,

yet changed me into a shadow.

The dastardly skeleton in the closet,

she was the angel with the twisted smile.

If there were a sparrow that could sing the song that resonated in my being,

it would croak.

The night would no longer be solace,

the first rays of morning would no longer be loved.

Nightmares would become companion,

as death the knight and savior.

Hollow eyes would watch mournfully,

all that ever ran were lies.

Denial was all that was known,

regret was all that survived.

Secrets would sooner or later regretfully freeze.

She was just another haunter.

Until memories become charred ashes on the spine of books,

and peace arises once more when the darkness arises,

and when the self is known,

perhaps another fragment would shatter...

making it so difficult to remember what once was nearly impossible to forget.