The Poem and The Aftermath

I have never been befallen by such a sense of doom,
as if my gravestone has already been inscribed
and the tomb sealed before I have yet to die.

In the same way my love's flame has been put out
and the wisps of smoke themselves are beginning to fade
before my love had a chance to grow and burn.
But alas it's soft glow has been choked out before it's time.

Nothing left but a bare shape, a silhouette against the
horizon of my judgement hour, the onslaught of heartbreak readying its armies and sharpening its daggers,
my heart: its target, my love: its innocent slave.

Rejection molding its bullets and being fired from its cannons.

The pain knows my tender weaknesses, because it has
attacked before. Beat me down with humiliation and
shame, my exposed soul victim to these attacks waged
on my pride and my confidence.

Broken is my self esteem, shattered are the remains of
the want for love, my hope consumed in the fires of my fury,
my blind terror fueling my anger, wrath, and sadness.

And inside, as though through a window be speckled by raindrops, my soul looks out through the frosted pane, through the darkness and the fire.
Cold and alone it sits quietly, tears masking its true beauty, as pain puts gossamer cracks through the window.

My doom already set, my destiny chosen and enforced,
while my soul sits silent, unable to change the winds of fate that blow me, the sea of destiny that sweeps me away and the fire of love
that burns away my world.

I cannot prepare for what is to come.
I have been given no chance to plea.
I am defenseless, beaten, hopeless.

And there is no bringing back the dead.