Peaceful Horrors

Gone forever
Gone for more
Gone be the days of sorrow
Gone be the seasons of harrow
Gone be the days, be that of marrow
Strike with the crimson struck blade,
Still could not I bring to strike away the marrow.
Inches from flesh, just above a tear
Inches from  a piercing cut and yet all I had to bare
Like a lion, pinned to the floor.
I was left lying, begging for more.
Release in breaking, the stone so cold
Release in breaking bones so old.
The crimson struck blade raised against my hand,
Its icy cut, I'd soon understand…
My misery shook my heart and again my hand,
Quick! Weakness! Begone! I implore you!
I thrust the blade down to strike, aimed at the point of my strife!
The heart. So fragile and weak, beating against my September sleep.
Hands, they shake, the crimson point stopped one more..
Inches from flesh, no soft fragile tare,
Inches from death, yet I'm still left to bare.
Hallowed words, cold as stone wrapped entrapped around withered bone.
Pinned forever, against the floor, like a lion..
Still, I lash out for more…
No peace for I.
No, not I.
Undeserving of peaceful life,
Further peace of hateful plight.
All seems for naught, as I grip tight.
The blade of crimson night.
No peace for I..no peace to die…no peace of life…no peace of strife.