POETRY WITHOUT NAME

Something stirs in me,

soft, subtle, yet familiar.

I know it as I know myself,

a silent snow, a quiet kiss.

A tiny spark of recognition

ignites a fire in my mind...

of him.

I see him in a place of shadows and wind,

high above the heavens,

farther than the depths of purgatory.

He sets atop a hand of discarded hopes and dreams.

His body is surrounded by the spirits of friends and acquaintances,

and yet he is alone.

Holding up his feet are the petty judgments of man that are beneath him.

Placed atop his head are the sins of his past forming a wreath that is constantly hovoring over him. Around him is a cloak, woven from the strands of tears

that traced across his face by weeping for others who had all but vanished from his life, his tears being waisted upon them.

It weighs down upon his shoulders like an unforgiving hand.

Around his neck and closest to his heart

is a medalion made of true happiness,

friends that adore him,

people that care,

understanding hearts,

and unconditional love.

This he keeps locked,

unwilling to accept the fact that happiness exists,

yet unable to take it off.

This is his torture,

his symphony of despair,

and this is what makes him the god of infinite sadness.

The memory stays fresh and tart on my tongue.

I close my eyes and digress.

For you.....

Written By Amber Hatt

For Jason Wright