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    Cynus
  • Cynus
  • Author
  • 08/26/2020
  • 92 Words
  • 599 Views
  • 4 Comments
Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

Musings of a Mongoose - 20. Untitled Misery

I am a fond tragedy
The last rites of a dying god
Falling leaves in autumn
A shrine to what could have been
A whisper of secret gatherings in the hearts of men
Who wanted a better world
And died for the dream without ever waking
Weep not for me but for the nightmares
It is they which make the children cry out
Only soldiers and survivors know the quiet helplessness of my demise
Tragic that we were
We are not the world
We are its echoes in the dark

Copyright © 2017 Cynus; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
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Chapter Comments

Cynus
4 hours ago, Valkyrie said:

:hug:  

 

4 hours ago, Parker Owens said:

You make me feel a steel blue despair. So also does the autumnal ache come to me in these words. 

 

3 hours ago, ReaderPaul said:

Another great example of poetic prose.

 

Thank you all for your fine compliments and support. This was something I wrote a couple months back and found hidden in my notes. At the time I was feeling the loss of potential I saw in myself due to dealing with trauma in my youth. I am, thankfully, in a much better place since then.

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