Third one. Hang in there, folks; almost halfway through…
In my severed head there lies a space
In which I’ve been hiding my face;
Shivers roam among my veins
When I speak about this place.
Charred bones crack beneath my feet
When I tread upon this land so bleak.
To myself, I’ve grown tired and weak –
To the world I’m nothing, I’m a freak.
Disjointed corpses atop their graves –
Tainted hopes for better ways;
Their wailing has not stopped for days,
Their hungering echoes are here to stay.
The one silent spot of light
In this broken world of mine
Is the voice – peaceful divine –
Of the one who saved my life.
And when this voice shall fade away
From this place so cold and grey,
My world will, then, crumble and break,
Shattering the light of day.
Thus will, then, burn my torment
Which I’ve grown so tired to pretend,
For only that voice my husk would mend –
Without it, I’d gladly end.