Tuesday, October 13, 2015


“For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun? And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.”  Kahlil Gibran

I was not born by my choice
It was not a personal act
And yet he despised me
Since birth he chose to ignore
To damn my existence
Kill me with his silence
As actual fact
I was by nature quiet
But that silence
Was from fear

His scream
Echoed frozen
Inside my soul
He'd find a reason
In his lack of reason
And he would snap
I shook beneath the covers
When I slept
Not from cold
I was trapped
In time I might be free
Or I might be unable to escape
Nothing would save me
Unless I could survive

 “When he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun.”
― William Shakespeare