He stood in his black jacket,
a cold grey breeze making his skin shiver
as his shoes touched rusty metal,
his feet vibrating from the light
that promised peace, a pleasant feeling.
It drew closer,
each second the sound growing louder,
his body trembling with every movement the light made.
He glimpsed it brighter to his right,
but where was the sound?
Only his inner voice echoed,
he knew he wanted this,
but why did he hear only himself screaming?
The light was near,
he must move, yet he was stuck.
This was his chance, his peace, his freedom,
all he had ever longed for.
But as he resolved to act, the light passed,
angels’ faces flashing by, eyes wide with shock,
and in an instant, his life slipped back into his grasp.
He seeks the blood of Jesus to silence the screams,
a fleeting calm before the roar returns, louder than before.
His body, worn and weary from addiction's grip,
the screaming intensifies as he gazes outside,
where only clouds loom and trees stand lifeless.
He can only pray his body will allow him to move today,
that the light will guide him this time,
and that the angels will open their arms wide.
What will still the screaming,
what will reveal the vibrant colors others see?
Though the light may lead him away from the screaming and the dead trees,
It blinds him completely, leaving only darkness.
Would highly appreciate criticism and I would love to hear what you felt while reading this.
