The Last Walk
When I walk, I stumble slightly,
On the thorny, feeble ground.
All the time it should be your arms that embrace me,
That support and tighten around my fragile hand.
Frequently I acknowledge my mere expectancy of how this dream should be,
Thus such thoughts sadden my heaving heart,
Till my swollen tears fall softly.
When those arms fail to reach out and catch me,
I’m lost to the dark.
I await the fiery temple and burning mark.
All that is left is to allow this belligerent abyss to consume my broken soul,
All hopes of saviour and mercy are inconceivable.
Are you watching?
Are you listening now?
That as the darkness savages my body,
You’re left pondering how?
At what point did you break me beyond repair?
Why is it you could not love me?
Was it ultimately down to fear?
My last cries to the world are in tedious anger,
That it could not accept nor want my breath to be a part of its endeavour.
Therefore, I leave you on one note to remember,
Life does not expect you to live,
It expects you only to suffer!
© 2011 Alana Bembridge