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I beseech you, oh marauders of the night.
Terror of tranquil sleep, thief of the night’s peace,
Never cease to haunt my dreams,
Torment me with fear in every waking hour.
Burn me in desolation and quench me with hope…and then burn me again.
This time, till my belief is crisp and cinders.
Poison my thoughts with envy and grief.
Break my wings, as my courage aims for the stars.
Carry on, stomp my dead dreams as the vultures of desolation,
Swoop in for a banquet of spicy carrion.
Ah…the joys of watching a broken spirt crumble on fading dreams.
What wouldn’t you give to see me writhe and twist in pain,
As you dare my shattered soul to dream again?
But you’ll never know that joy.
Your haunts, like hammer blows on red hot steel are a necessary evil,
A forge to strengthen the mind where boundless dreams will be made.
With time, your shrieks become lullabies.
You look into my eyes, and stare at the valour rising in my soul.
I look in yours, as the fear from the knowledge that I will rise, grows.
Your fires burn, with the vengeance of suppression,
But the greater the fire, the fiercer the phoenix.
Its close, the negation of this poisoned fear and rancid grief.
While they broke my ego, my soul was shielded by grace.
I saw the army overwhelm me, but somehow, the war never ended.
For while they thought us dead, our strength grew while we rested.
And so they tried to bury us, digging their own graves with wide smiles on their faces.
Oh! The fulfillment from wrecking more souls, breaking spirits and stomping dreams.
We waited until they were done, and then buried them in their own coffins.
I made sure the world would hear their story.
I thanked them for their strength and persistence in breaking my spirit.
They were the fires that birth the strength that courses through my soul.
So I welcome the new hoard as they descend, at last it’s time to grow again.