A Slow Descent

The doors are veiled in darkness

not welcoming or inviting,

just the opposite.

The rooms are all similar,

with the same forbearing sense of gloom,

that overshadows all possible 

feeling of joy.

Small traces of solace

peel through the dread.

I watch aghast

as the unyeilding despair

takes its toll.

Slowly despair permeates through

shadows and darkness,

making itself a home.

It is in this room,

darkness grows and thrives.

All seems undisturbed. 

Stillness reaps my entire mind.

The time has come; twilight, 

with Death its ghastly bearer.

My mind, used to be my own.

Now it is His, 

held firm,

in is inflexible gripping grasp.

Never capable of being free,

I am constrained to agree, 

that I will be the eternal prisoner

of Death.

Throughout time,

I cling to hope. Futile,

since the shadows have precedent

claim to me.

Death grows stronger. Day

is gone, hope along with it.

Nothing left to save me from the

pain that comes from being

a shadow's own.

Joy peeks around corners

frightened, hiding away.

Saving itself, from the sight 

I have become, wearing the

sadness like my skin.

It grieves my slow

descent to Death. I am

eternally one with

the shadows.