Why is love not allowed to me? I feel its sweet breath, I see its warm glow, and yet I am just out of its reach, chained within the bonds of my sorrow and my pain, locked in shackles of my past. My fear is a warden, a warden of ruin and torment, who seeks to imprison me within his cold iron walls until I fade away unto dust. And yet, I still see it, as if I star out of a narrow slit, a tiny crack in the stone walls of my heart. Something, just beyond the border, just beyond my grasp. An enticing thing, a world of color and life, and one that I am cut away from, Imprisoned within this dark world of hopeless sadness and despair. The screams of the lost, they surround me, for they too, all those lost souls, like wanderers without a light, are cut off from the world of love. Have they no Virgil to guide them to their rest? Have I no guide? The crack does not change, and yet, sometimes, it is as if I see it widen a bit. A solemn, sober shift in its complexion. I am confused by this, for every time I do, I am greeted with a face looking at the crack. A pale face, soft and smooth, and without blemish. A kind face, holding no malice or despair. I am inclined to distrust it, for it is trust that put me in this awful world of darkness, but I am also strangely drawn to its glow, as if the face is truly good. I reach my hand, bare and famished, through the crack, but I am only able to reach the very tips of my fingers through. The face looks at me again, a beautiful, young woman, of cheery disposition and grace, and without grief as I endure. She steps towards me, tall and strong, unwavering. I do not lie when I say I fear her, for she is unlike the poor, sad, broken souls around me, crying in the dark for even a drop of light. She is not hollow as they, but rather full of life, and heat. My skin has felt so cold for so long, and my body so weak, that I have forgotten what I means to be warm and strong. My eyes reach hers, and I nearly faint for amazement. They are the most radiant and pure things I have ever seen. Strong and rich, like deep brown pools of life-giving earth, just waiting for a seed to be planted. She walked right up to me, and the crack threatens to close, the voices of the hollows around tell me, “Do not touch! Do not give in! Fear her touch! Fear her life!” They say these things because they too are afraid. They are a part of me, and I begin to shake as her hand draws near. I almost break and recoil, but rather than that, she grabs my fingers and rips me through the crack, splintering the solid wall as if it was mere straw. I feel great pain because of this, and their voices scream in agony over me, but as I stand, something is different. I feel warm, and the smell of wildflowers is in my nose, a replacement from the cold scent of death from before. I look at her radiant face and she embraces me. I reach to embrace her too, but just as I do, I find myself gazing into a wall of hard stone. It was only a dream. I begin to weep, and my heart breaks once more, for what I cannot have. I want to die, and yet I cannot die, I am too afraid. I sit down by the wall, and try to remember the dream, but it is gone now, as dreams are, flying and fluttering on the wind, as a spring sparrow at the dawn. The world grows cold around me. I am alone now, even the lost are gone. Cold, silent, empty, a chamber of true loneliness. My tears are gone, for I’ve no more left to give. I shall become as the walls soon, like those that came here before me. They are just husks now, pictures, etched into stones, their names left behind for centuries to come. They never made It out of this place, this abyss I call home. And I fear I will not either. There is no light, only darkness. No sound, only silence. No warmth, only cold. No life, only death. I stare into the gloom, and pass, as a mere shadow in the darkness.
Poetry
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