Scream

One night I was swept along a rustling stream,
When a silhouette gave the darkness form.
Twisted, contorted—a fractured dream,
A shadow writhing in torment—a living scream.

Drowned in desperation and sadness, a bitterest pain,
Gathered as darkening cloud over a darkling plain.
A caterwauling specter mired in the agonies of life,
The weeping soul of a seraphim—an immortal cry.

Is there a cure, cor meum? Can healing truly be found?
Amor vincit omnia etiam dolor, as the call resounds.
Its heart wished for more, My heart wished for more
Yet the pain of loss is a burden we all must endure

Vexation and woe only germinate their seeds
In the absence of love, in our grayest of dreams.
There were no words of comfort, in any tongue;
The sparkle of light drained from the once-fecund sun.

Desolation and misery haunt each delicate step,
And the truth? Real love cannot be circumspect.
So I cradled its form within my heart,
I could feel all its fear and anguish depart.

I gathered its pain and made it mine,
And now I scream—all of the time.