No More History Repeats Poem by Chris Tiganescu

So the new days arrive, the days of
growing dark, and dimming lights, give
only to break, the pain it divides it splits.
Where will my heart land? In her soft
hand? Or under her boot. The constant
fear that grips my mind, the mind
intact to a point, should the point sever
then so does all sanity, and so the rain
beats at my head, the dead season
draws near, pack my heart to protect it
from drawing it's pain, yet with this fear
so comes the hope that history shall
not repeat itself. For the repeating of history
concludes in the downfall of man. In this
case should it repeat, it be the downfall
of only I.

A price for your soul to the Devil it takes
Only to see life in shambles as it soon breaks.