Tales of Torment: Pain's Purpose

The target of these eyes I've been given‐

chosen by my mind, without it even knowing,

amiss, in the mess‐

that stems, from the steps,

sought through the mist, born by,

what my very own words describe as, a disease‐

This space that exists between my ears,

has become a battleground‐

between chaos and void,

a war between flesh and spirit‐

active, in each and every minute.

Whatever I attempt to do,

is not what comes to be,

only its opposite.

All the while, all I try to avoid,

show nothing but my footsteps around them.

In a fight already won, but‐

still, songs of war continue,

and the rain rages on‐

behind this front I put on.

My eyes, precede my choice,

leading me, seemingly only to sin‐

leaving scars on my heart, that‐

by day and night, scream from within.

No one can hear its voice‐

over those that shout nonsense,

both from, and, in this space between my own ears.

Except only one, that is‐

The One, who not only hears,

but can calm the river's flow that streams from my eyelids.

There is only one, that is‐

The One, who can calm the storm that my vices,

by day, and by night, attempt to swallow me whole.

The very same storm, that for Him, was underneath the soles of His feet.

And, if I'm worth saving, then‐

this, is worth saying, that there is‐

such a tempest, that narrates what nightmares,

take place, in this space behind my eyes,

in the few times, in which they are permitted to close.

How dare I wish that they stay in such a state.

Under the water, that in which I cannot swim‐

this rain, both originates from, and creates‐

the oh, so dangerous wishes my mind tends to make.

Storms that seem to find me in all my hiding,

even when no one else can.

My every thought, chaotically abiding,

at every second, of everyday

they wage war within me.

They blur my search, for peace‐

for what pieces of me were lost in the wind,

for the seemingly few, that for them I actually have something to give‐

other than another tale of this torment that follows me to every end.

And as for what ends haven't met‐

I'm sure they will find me, on one of these nights, but‐

Who is really searching for whom?

The places in which I find myself,

lacking in any kind of righteousness‐

have only my footsteps leading to them,

not like any other in their likeness, but‐

Would I really give my eyes in hope to lead a lust‐less life?

Any "yes" my mouth utters is just a useless lie‐

just as fruitless as these dangerous wishes my tongue tends to make.

My bleeding heart is not something time will take‐

and as red as my eyes are, beating to the octave of my blood as it drips‐

I cannot give them away.

Because sinless‐ness is not at the stake of the members of my body.

Desire, I have been given, and even as I wish for it to be taken away‐

I know, that this torment will stand by my side‐

while my human-ness walks away,

never to turn back.

Leaving me, in what despise I have for how what I spy with my not so little eyes,

continues to stand before me.

But‐

Who's really looking for whom?

It's me here drawing circles in the sand,

no longer looking for one to understand, but‐

somehow, finding reasons to rejoice,

in seasons flooded with reasons to give up.

Choices I make, influenced by voices I now recognize, but‐

cannot quiet.

Slumber's absence, comes back its own choice‐

I cannot fight it.

Void's company, insists I don't forget is voice‐

I cannot fight it.

Torture's statue, desperately tries to keep me in it's shadow‐

I cannot escape it.

The purpose of this bittersweet symphony, and these songs of war‐

I cannot escape it.

This torment, the war inside me,

I can't take it‐

and I can't give it.

Not that I would, if I could‐

if giving all of this, to me, takes it from someone else‐

then so be it.

Another of my many, many dangerous wishes, but‐

if this torment breeds a form of writing,

I can leave for them in hiding,

a form of speech,

that ears deafened by despair, can still hear,

and the eyes to see those in need,

to give them a hope,

a form of comfort,

that's not even coming from me,

then so be it.

A dangerous wish indeed, not one I've ever made‐

not that I needed to, ever, anyway‐

but this torment I have found, for it I was never searching, but‐

If it helps someone survive even just one more day,

to see the sun just one more day,

in hope to see The Son, one day‐

Then so be it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank You For Reading!!!

Here are some similar others, and another from the Tales of Torment collection.