From the shallows I have come to resent you, Oh silence that birthed my beginnings, This empty room in which I sit has no comfort, The fortress of solitude has no tender strings. I long to share this passion, this Light within me, But alas there are only the sounds of nothingness to greet my joy. Time and distance mean everything to the wealthy who value both, While cutting to the bone the pauper who seeks neither in bad company. “Be still to my breath and the waves of Love will come,” Yet I am greeted only by the sounds of piggish snore. “You are nothing, you don’t matter but to be there for Two,” To be alone with these thoughts is surely to have met Satan’s grisly stare. I have been taught for an infinity, To be nothing, I am nothing, to be lost in nothing. Confirmed in one failed swoop She told me all I am, The be held to the cross as I leave this pitiful reminder behind. Out of ash comes a risen hand from the grave, Determined not to die like those before him, Praying, hoping, needing to be so-much-more, But knowing his hope resides in one who firmly grasps on to yesterday. I have no choice but to love for fear has left me stranded, I have no choice but to feel for numbness has left me broken and alone, I have no choice but to know for ignorance has left me tired in the night, I have no choice but to count on no one for faith has left me questioning it all. Or so the somber bells toll after a moment such as this, Such an overflow of emotion left hollow by an uncaring melody. Yes, this event is my fault and mine alone for no one else took part in the routine, Just me and my shadow dancing the Black Swan in an empty corridor. I can pull from memory moments of love that say otherwise, Yet they somehow weren’t but a dream in a head lost in itself, We must focus, focus, focus on the other parts, That suggest to end this play was much more in order than those who suggest it had merit. Begone you Satan! and leave me to my tears, Don’t play fiddle where no bow or strings remain. Just do with me as you wish, for I am but a toy Who deserves to be tossed to and from by the child who wearies from the monotony of it all. Such moments fleeting before my very soul, Sorry rejection confronting this fatigue-swept mind sick of the lifetime battle for “something,” Finding something as it walks out the door confirming a lifetime of suspicion, Yet leaving hope that tomorrow may yet come again. Still I reach to an empty room, stare at an empty space, I wonder what is behind that door to come kicking me in the face, Whoa be this victim’s victim, a boy lost in a man’s body wishing for a woman’s loving hand, But finding only an enemy in silence staring back at him.