Poet in Residence - Melyssa Sprott

Melyssa G. Sprott aka sxyvxn3779
author of Descent into the Dark
http://www.1stbooks.com/bookview/17301
Visit the Dark @ www.descentintothedark.com

I’m cloaked by the shadows of the demons in my soul.
They hide in the valleys with the light that they have stole,
as I walk in the darkness of the void that makes me whole.

Wondering when Surrender comes if my white flag will fly,
as I wait for this moment like I’ve waited my whole life.
But freedom from this torment won’t come freely when I die.

Condemned to spend eternity suffering with the Damned.
No hope for survival, for I am dead where I stand.
Yet still fearing exile, because this is what I am.

The House That I Never Grew Up In

There was no playing, no games to win.
For, this is the house I never grew up in.

There was no peeking to see what Santa brought.
And there are a thousand fights that have yet to be fought.

No games of hide-and-seek to win,
no playing in the rain, or any sleeping in.

No clothes being washed, or any floors to mop.
No dates at the door, or any friends to stop.

I love the house, but no memories I fear.
There is no joy—no family lives here.

No smiling, no crying, no laughter within.
For, this is the house that I never grew up in.

Hostage

People try to comfort me,
but it’s just not the same,
because sometimes the only comfort we find
is in our own pain.

The sorrow can be so captivating
as it begs me to remain.
No outsider could ever be capable
of taking this feeling away.

They’ll never understand the calm
of relinquishing all control.
The hurt can be such a comforting place,
when contentment seems too cruel.