Silence is the enemy,
and at once, my greatest friend.
But when is all this silence,
and my fear to end?
My struggles have been long and hard,
at times, a frantic flight
From the dangers in the darkness,
How does it remain so hard
to reach the point of knowing?
How can this stagnation end,
and my soul rekindle growing?
I know that I am weary, for I feel my loss of light.
That lets the shadows strengthen in my ever ebon night.
The power of my soul to climb above such mortal care
Is fading, taking with it the life within my air.
So, I breathe deep, with passion, savoring the power
That does remain, while I await Death’s appointed hour.
Now comes the dagger, sharp and sleek, quickly from the mist,
And I, from sheer frustration, raise an angry fist.
As onward flies the dagger, toward my heart of stone,
I know my final words will fall in silence, all alone.
And I feel peace, and freedom, as the blade doth come to rest.
Without pain, I shudder, as I spend my final breath.
Too late, I see
that God has dwelt inside of me,
And I, in sin,
launched the blade that now rests in
(by Ronald Hatton)