The pain awakes me in the witching hour,
Exquisite throbs like embers on a pyre
That strive to sore, and soar up ever higher,
Extracting each and ev'ry "oh'm" of power,
And hope quick fades into the darkly dour,
And cracks appear around my lonely spire,
And shadows drown the lanterns of my shire,
And evil lights a fuse beneath my tower,
And in delusioned state I hear them speak,
The many varied voices softly chatter,
And talk of me as though I do not matter,
And with a feeble sound, hence I reply,
And they perceive me as a windless sigh,
Ignoring of a soul long hence too weak ~~
Mar 21
Mar 21, 2026 at 8:26 AM UTC
The pain awakes me in the witching hour,
Exquisite throbs like embers on a pyre
That strive to sore, and soar up ever higher,
Extracting each and ev'ry "oh'm" of power,
And hope quick fades into the darkly dour,
And cracks appear around my lonely spire,
And shadows drown the lanterns of my shire,
And evil lights a fuse beneath my tower,
And in delusioned state I hear them speak,
The many varied voices softly chatter,
And talk of me as though I do not matter,
And with a feeble sound, hence I reply,
And they perceive me as a windless sigh,
Ignoring of a soul long hence too weak ~~
The road to recovery undulates,
Exacting of its toll;
The ups and downs oft vertical,
To stretch this mortal soul
~~
