Dreams of the Assassin

Reads: 17  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: September 29, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: September 29, 2018

A A A

A A A


Of all the ones you could have chosen, you chose the black thread of fate. Down a path of ruin you willingly decided to walk. Do you understand where it is you stand in this never ending ocean of dreams? Can you still hear the fires whisper frantically as they’re snuffed out? What is the weight of a life to one who kills? All that is left behind is the darkness and the beast within— there is no hiding from it when the pearl in the sky is painted black and the transient snow is drenched with blood. Even behind closed eyelids memories of the light dance faintly. The only sound for miles in the silence is the buzzing in your own ears. Standing at these great heights will you jump with a countenance of reverence to the pretentious heavens which promised paradise but instead presented broken angels, or will your eyes seek the truth? What do you think awaits you at your journey’s end beneath the fathoms of the dark ocean? What do you think is darker than black besides the darkness within you? The place you once knew is gone— burned to the ground by your hands; by your own selfishness and greed. The forget-me-nots are crying. You didn’t listen to them calling as you filled your tarnished soul with the passionless screams of another caught in the heat of a single fleeting moment. When will you realize this pride is the source of your decay? You’re drunk on the blood of the innocent, spilled in your black fury. Upon the flesh of supple virgins you feast like a glutton. The nectar of your conquests is poisoned, and in your rebirth—for death is too sweet— You shall pay the price for your transgressions. Return now to the reality that is yours, to the world—this hell—you created for yourself. Descend deeper into the fire, into the rings of the inferno. Face the souls you have banished there and press deeper and deeper into the bowls of ice where the greatest deceivers reside. Unlike Dante you have no love to save; no reason to fight and no way of redeeming yourself. When the demons rip into your black, decayed heart they’ll spit the putrid flesh into your face. This condemnation you wrought upon yourself in your choosing of the dark ribbon— the blackest thread of fate. This world is yours.


© Copyright 2018 Chandanie Devi. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments: