In the mist of anger,
fists fly with the eyes
seeing images of faces,
and hearing screams that
once were, and yet, remain.
They remain as a haunting thought,
A reminder of a haunted past in this now foreign land;
Filling us with the rage and mistrust they brought.
Know in this that one will stand,
and fight to quite the screams that still remain.
This burden is bared and carried afloat,
in the depth of the tarnished mind and soul.
A recollection of bliss, of joy, of intense fire
Capturing the truth of what it is to be embraced,
and calming the voices, the screams, that now exist
and shall remain.
Awakened from my eternal rest and resurrected back
by the screams that haunts your awakened sleep.
From the shadows, I search for a tortured soul that still does weep,
As the rain falls on this cold November night, they mask the tears
As they fall from her eyes, I find myself in surprise.
Drawn to her, I now can see that this angel's pain was what resurrected me.
Longing to know the pai