Icy fingers clutch his heart
As his feelings break apart.
Heart encased in cold hard stone;
Chill sets into worn out bones.
His soul is black, cold, and dark;
Empty eyes betray no spark.
Of remorse there is no trace
In the night that is his face.
Yes is no and no is yes;
Less is more and more is less.
See his grin and think it real,
Hear him talk and see him feel.
Like a puppet on such strings
Of lost dreams to which he clings.
Dancing for them, hanging down,
Forcing smiles from his frown.
At his end they found this note
Which in darkness once he wrote;
In its lines may still be read,
If one dares to face the dread,
All the secrets never told
Of the despair in his soul.
Share This Poem