Friday, April 26, 2013


rambles of the darkened place,
not void of light but on my face
tears that Mercy can't erase.

and loud the wails of silent pain
yet stoic sits this thing again
to ponder souls in poison rain.

and loud the screams though heard by none
the tortured damned stripped and won
as prizes of the dark man's fun.

and lo, I walk the valley of the shadow
walk with me through this dark meadow
live as if you're his dark widow.

and give me place in your warm heart
for cold I live and cold's the part
I suffer through and then to start

the pencil flowing till the end
and death shall be the one to rend
the pencil from my clutching hand.

                                     --Monty Wheeler

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