Catatonia

The wicked lances prance, relentless in their attack,

Absolute power, blood, and soil in a greedy bid to take back.

Unwelcome denizens, like shadows, are carted to El Salvador,

While sun, moon, and stars bear solemn witness to vile acts without candor.

In the abyss of the heart, tenebrous shadows creep,

The soul frets, lost in the tumult of a mind’s keep.

Twisted conscience weaves a web that torments restful sleep,

As bodies lie ensnared, whimpering, where anguished silence weeps.

Limp limbs sag, a deadpan visage, a visionless stare,

The heart races in chaos, pulse spiraling up unseen stairs.

Whiffs of disdain linger in the air, a memory of distant dreams,

Abandoned in the chasm between what is and what’s merely seen.

A melody hangs like frost, a silent, frozen plea,

An echo of a spirit that once soared, vibrant and free.

The mind becomes a maze, echoing with hollow calls,

Where despair and silence entwine, enveloping empty halls.

Time bends in cruel mockery, slipping through fingers’ grasp,

Moments dissolve like whispers, escaping from the past.

Undercurrents bubble darkly; from the depths, they surge,

Where sorrow paints its canvas, an artful, somber dirge.

The world outside hums with a distant, muted song,

Yet the body remains, a hollow shell where it no longer belongs—

A stillborn sojourner, adrift on an endless, storm-tossed sea,

Haunted by what could be and by what shall never be.

In Catatonia’s chilling grasp, a numb, frozen embrace,

Blood and spirit entwined, lost in this forsaken space.

Death’s ghostly, icy hand beckons, a grim reminder of what we cosigned,

Soon or late, all shall know the divine truths we left behind.