Whisper-Less Evenings Poem by Uriah Hamilton

I'm going to walk on out
into the cruel winter rain
and see if I can disappear
into these streets of haunted anonymity.

I can't look into the mirror any longer
into my own eyes and find myself,
whatever was left of me is threadbare;
I'm as ragged as child's doll
long abandoned.

There were memories once of laughter
and simple embraces by candlelight,
there were delicate mist-like kisses
that shattered me like the crush of rock
from a crumbling hillside.

Someone told me to discover myself in prayer,
but is there an ancient deity that remembers me?
Doesn't even spiritual memory grow faint?
I'm consciously complacent in the face of my demise,
I silently accept my fate on these whisper-less evenings.