Aftermath Poem by Philip St. Cyr

As is an reptile, I am cold-blooded
possessing little feeling or emotion
my pulse is faint almost without heartbeat
all is still around me,
as I am set adrift on a motionless sea
Alone I stand as an iceberg;
encumbered, while haunted by eerie memories
that refuse to fade

She took my love away so that I had no more love to give
and with it the song that my soul would sing
there are no more daisies or daffodils
only naked trees and withered evergreens
there is no sun or moon
only the mist which covers the earth for shame
There are no traces of animals or people
and fevered soil and scorched remains of foliage
which beckon for dew from the heavens
the air is stifling and the mist carries no moisture
as it blankets the enclosure as an ocean of white
and towers above everything around it

Squinting; as I veer deep into the mist,
it is as though the sky is crying
but I cannot wipe its tears
A feeling of sorrow and disgust overtakes me,
as I discover the fate of all which lies before me,
My spirit is laden with anger
as I realize that she was destroyer
of everything which is beautiful in life
There are no sunsets or sunrises,
nether shores or mountains
above there are no blue skies,
below the water is not vibrant
There are only faint echoes in the darkness
as darkness is what lies behind the mist

No more is the earth kissed my the warmth of the sun
the sun and the moon hide; stifled by the clouds of fog
the ocean lies a reflection of a black desert wasteland
which is cast upon this body of despair
The presence of creatures of the air, hovering above can be felt
waiting to partake of the carcass of a fallen soul
Though they cannot be seen,
gusts of wind can be felt from the movement of their ghastly presence
They swarm around me, as though I am a dead man walking

I cry aloud, but there is no answer
the repetition of embellished sounds reverberating in my head torment me
So enthralling is her voice as it calls out from the hollowed depths
only it not her, but a mirage of sound altered in the abyss
It is the beckon of the grave as the grim reaper awaits for my soul
But he cannot capture the essence that is my spirit,
because I am the personification of purgatory