The sadness

I wrote this when thinking of all that I've done wrong.

Judge me not for the sins I have commited nor for the ones that I will ensue.  Forgive me not for the pain I have inflected and in the future I will do. 

I am but the manifistation I can not control, a mirage of the dream I seek.  A whisper upon the wind from the beat of a butterflies wings, a painful gasp of the failing and meek. 

I sit in wait till the awakening of the animal within, degrading everthing that's me.  Wrought is my soul clamouring to stay afloat amid the roiling sea. 

I hear the screams of the past, the fists of the present, and the breath of the future.  I cry for the love of the lost, love of the now, and the soon to be torture.