• As quick as morn begins the day anew,
    The moon will rise with shades as pitch as black.
    The void is filled with those that we once knew,
    Embraced with tendrils cold and fire lack.
    A shade that looms amongst the souls alive,
    A waking nightmare etched forevermore.
    The ghost of past relations still survive,
    As silent whispers in my blackened core.
    Unforgiving memories are a curse,
    Your image up upon the wall a pain.
    To see what fate bestows upon me worse,
    I wait and watch through time and space’s pane.

    Compared to this final solemnity,
    I am nothing more than a memory.