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by Logan
Rated: E · Poetry · Dark · #2199409
For anyone going through a rough time, you're never on your own

In this festival of terrors,
this carnival of souls,
Lost amidst the letters,
word and sentence take their toll

So silent in our vacuums,
thermos flasks in which we dwell,
where stress climbs high and doubts consume,
... our special slice of hell

Unique and custom made for us,
designed, built by ourselves
Where all the things we darent discuss
are hidden, high on shelves

Buried in a darkness deep,
in alcoves of our minds
Shrouded 'midst such starkness steep,
neath cobwebs hard to find

Spider's webs that ancor on
to all the things we hide
In boxes fears linger on,
imagined sins inside

Shrouded neath the many tents,
lit brightly in the field
'midst rousing beats, the heart consents
and souls reluctant yield

Yield to the chaos reaped,
the rapture of the night
Where spirits fly in darkness steeped,
streaked through with cadanced light

A light that comes through letting go
and letting in such sights
A light that shines to those who know,
to those lost in their plight

Tangled in their spider's webs,
snared up in their doubts,
blackened thoughts as darkness ebbs,
whilst echoes hold their clout

Resounding round such rafters raw,
the canopy of tents
Through stages stunned at sights we saw,
left too afraid to vent

Too much pride to take a fall,
too proud to even choose
Standing, backs against a wall,
with nothing left to lose

Rocking midst the tremors felt
as strobing lights console
This festival of terrors dwelt
... this carnival of souls
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2199409