The Dark City (a poem of sorts)

The Dark City-

Hope rises in the darkest times,

When hearts beat faintly and blood trickles fatally,

At the hour when putrefaction rots the mind

And shadows skulk and all the streets evolve into one foreboding alley. 

Seized with fear the people be,

Silenced by their children's screams in the night,

By their blood coursing down the street,

Too paralyzed to contend for their lives. 

Roses no longer have fragrance or shade  or remind of love, but are stems with razor-sharp  thorns. 

Water is bitter and acerbic. 

No sunrise greets them in the morn,

The light in their world has been bludgeoned. 

Maybe a hero will come,

Perhaps a savior will emerge. 

How can one be summoned

When no one has the courage?

For here courage is naught but a fable,

A theory from ages past,

But no one is willing or able

To join underneath a foolish flag raised on a legend mast. 

They dare not complain anymore

For it was we the people who decided our fate

And made our place of hope quite poor,

Thus creating a dismal rule and making prison for our souls not up for debate. 

Every day at the three o'clock hour

A man walks through calling at the quickly closed shutters,

"My love, My love! Let me take you away and deliver you from this power!"

But their minds won't leave the gutter and his gentle voice makes them shudder. 

"Leave us alone," they shout, "we love the dark!"

But he still comes each day, reaching for the hearts they've forgotten they have. 

He sings out like a lark, "Come, my love, come!" But it doesn't reach their hearts. 

He offers healing, but they loathe his restoring salve. 

I live with and am one of them. 

I wallow in darkness and won't consider life. 

I enjoy my selfish sin and won't cave in. 

I'd rather abide in horror and strife. 

Later, later, I always say. 

Tomorrow is when I'll be saved.

Lord, perhaps a more convenient day,

Then I will give my heart away. 

But now is the time,

Today is the day.

My salvation is on the line!

Later is a most dangerous word and will make me dearly pay. 

Lord I accept your call,

I am weary of the dark.

I didn't know I could fall this far

Or that I could burn in hell from one mere spark. 

Thus a singular person chose to bring a candle of light

Into the dark world,

In everyone's sight,

And by this choice and from this place, darkness was hurled. 

~Elizabeth Andersen