Robert D. Lyons

As Daylight Fades

Minutes become hours.
Hours are sprouting to days.
Time slowly withers away with the beating of my heart,
But spreads like my fears,
Which have now become phobias.
Even a stopped clock tells the right time twice a day,
And to my utter dislike, I am indeed drifting into the arena of the unwell.

Truth is the first victim of the fires of ill perception.
The match has been struck and flames spread like a wildfire in an isolated forest.
I try to embrace the sweet melancholy burns and guide them to caress the fires of my heart:
My inner anguish that turns even the robust rose I touch to the reminiscent atoms of ash.
The scars born from these foreign flames branch off throughout my once pale body,
Hiding my soul like clouds to the March sun.
The wounds of my past have reopened,
And I am watching all my insecurities leak out like a secluded spring.
The scent of blood is in the air,
And my predators are on the prowl,
Thirsty for catastrophe.
Uncertainty has engulfed my goals of bliss
As my thoughts follow these hollow catacombs,
And with terror, I believe myself lost in a world of intangible horrors.

A world in compassed with shades of blue
Where even the tiniest flaw is brought into sight,
From a haze of fluorescent light
Far more perilous than heavens gate.
I am at the mercy of wretched fate!
I never believed in ghost, until I became one.
Sitting in reflection of all the clashes that are far from done,
For I have sat idly by as daylight decayed,
I have yet to see a day without an ambiguous raid.
Helpless, I must stand, as if I am being toyed;
Destined for destruction, never to fill the void.

{Poem by Robert D. Lyons}