I am struck.
Struck once again by the lighting of fear;
but also by that of fate.
And while I want nothing more than to fill these pages with hate,
I know deep down that the state of my heart
will endure the now undefined shape of my future.
The pile of ash that remains is just another locked door.
A mound of fallen hopes and tears to be buried beyond the depths of this floor.
And I am sure,
that what was once the key was only just a lure.
And yet, as if by monstrous waves I am nonetheless crushed over and over again.
Unsure,
whether or not the blow of one more
I will be able to endure.
Standing.
Breathing.
Thinking.
An infinite array of caves await,
whose haunted hollows the only enclaves,
where dwells the depths from which my future resonates.