Sorrow's Heir

 

How blissful ignorance can be,
the solace found in the notion of ghosts and angels,
or souls reincarnate.
The pain of normalcy all at once echoes regret,
and at the hands of reminiscence, turns to dust.
Now it reads like a blank page,
a vacant stare, a pointless rage,
and all that remains; a trinket, a pitiful relic of love.
So sorrowful a testament to the light that filled my world.

The scars of ashen tears that fell from guilty eyes,
are masked beneath a sullen shade of grey.
My soul denied, I turn my back on graces from a hollow,
a desperate, hopeless dream of nothing more than shame.
For what is hope when dreams are dashed,
and cast upon the jagged rocks?
And what is life when darkness falls,
and light becomes an empty promise?
A wish from lips that quiver like a frightened little child.

Now I am toxic, I prick the happy little bubbles of the terminally faithful.
I hide down in the depths just out of reach,
of those who fear being pulled from the lifeboat.
I surround myself with broken glass, that they may fear to tread,
recluse in self inflicted solitude.
And yet; I am not lost.
The glow in my heart, reborn each time I look upon,
the treasure that you left to my soul.
I am the heir of sorrow.