Much madness lies behind what lurks ahead:
the truth looms worse than madness ever was.
Most times truth lies obscured by nature’s grace,
but now I am accursed and forced to gaze
into the final private place of soul.
There’s nothing there, repeated into screams
that resonate like nothing I have heard.
Words flail me, and blanched neurones bait my ghost.
I’d sacrifice my years to come for signs
that this has any purpose.
A line too short to grasp escapes my head.
I say, to stay my fear, it was an answer.
Someday I will find meaning that I seek.
I pray for that: to capture truth, and read
the reason for the chaos we call facts.
The clouds of grace draw veils across the sun,
and the rain comes down like prayers while I sleep.