This Side Of Hell

The delicate hush of loneliness 
lives among the most fragile, weary, and
forgotten,
she's the godmother of hopelessness
whose dawn shines brighter than Aurora, 
to be rude to her is a tragedy, 
she smiles while depriving you of
love and joy, her keepsakes are but 
your emanations of torture, 
her scourge wounds deep within and
exalts every weakness, harrowing the 
misery she keeps, there's no counterforce
to her wrath, she'll duplicate every memory
and forgotten elucidated pleasure, an emblem
of profound despair, the decadence of relived death;
to rectify this decomposed transcendency is to
hem in the past of forsaken portals and lives
harmed in contempt and dereliction; 
ergo, may you endure and walk beside the ghosts
for whom entangled and intermingled the windows of
the distant past, you owe no one an apology or 
any explanation, life's filled with snares of
disappointments, to bite your leg off to escape, now
that's the sign and mark of a hero, but you thought
best to live on this side of Hell instead. 

- John Hardesty