Sometime in the swirling horrid moments,
There was fear and rage
An un understanding.
Seconds turned to eons
Eons turned to fleeting moments.
The sun rose once a week,
And all there was, of it,
Was the tiny pinpoints of light,
Which snuck through the holes
In the eternally drawn blinds
Of the bedroom,
Where a nights rest,
Could span days…
The only joys that could come,
Were gone,
Before they could even be grasped,
Barely even recognized.
The only other being
The jailer.
No sun.
No joy.

The sun was there,
And what can it do if one refuses to come outside?
And the joy was there,
But what can it do,
For one who can no longer smile?

This is madness.
Were everywhere is a prison.
Everyone a jailer…
A jailer…

He is no jailer…
As far as one can be from it…
That one can ask for in another human being,
When one places oneself,
In a hole,
Will not come out
And cannot understand howone go there…
The only other one…
Certainly must be the keeper…..

But no….
One can, imprison oneself..
Inside walls,
Inside a city,
Inside ons own mind, as they travel the world..

if there is a duality,
In the man in question,
One can be the prisoner and the jailer,
But its much more confuisng.
As the origins of every step
Turning key, misdirection
(Especialy those orchstrated
By oneself,
Behind ones own back…)
Every untrustable word,
And glance,
Every heavy horrid door,
Slaming home…
The reasons, and origins of these things,
Are unknown…

Even if it is all by ones own hand…
Durdin days… stretching into years…
Into eons…
Though only seconds have passed…

And then…
Drowning in the darknes,
And tears,
One is lucky enough…
To recognize the jailer isn’t the one with he keys
That open to dor to put you in…
That he only has the set that let’s you out…
The only set, that let’s you out…

Some times,
One of the songs that used to fill ones heart to bursting,
But that had withered far beyond the skip button,…
Comes back….
As one rides from the night,
Into the dawn….
With the jailer,
Who was never the jailer at all…

Sometimes one remembers oneself,
How one used to be…
And it gives the tiniest ray of the clearest hope…
In the darkest,
And most horrible,

And one knows, that mostly,
Night is al there is…
And mostly, all therewill be…
Possibly fo a very long time…

But sometimes….
A saviour,
Graces the madness,
With a moment of clarity,
And hope…
Every now and again…

And somtimes…
That’s enough.


2 Responses to “Dawn”

  1. easylifestyles Says:

    I love poetry and I really enjoy reading your blog. Thanks for sharing this post. Feel free to stop by sometime.

    Raining Purple Rain

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