desporation

the strike through a heart.
it takes no remedy from the gods,
no apology from the strikes of hand above.
your life runs through your mind,
it's like makebelieve in your dreams.
there's no enemy, no more, no less than yourself.
unchangeable deed you've whispered,
there's no angel to take your place.
frustration is no longer your path,
but the light still in front of you,
takes no fury of your command.
not in this life nor the next.
you must give in to your hopelessnes,
till the fire has burned out from your torch.
your only hope in this agony of dark,
is the inner sircle of your soul.
that's your only true map, your goal.