First time through the valley of shadow of death
I only felt and ache.
Knowing it could never ease I kept a stubborn pace.
There was too much time to feel sorry for myself.
And it was easy to dwell in the pitch black waters of regret.

The ominous, distracting light,
a skybreak through the eye.
Arching, magnified, pulsating through a lense
as a toxicating inhalation hits my circulation.
Many more nights have come
and of them a story will be told.
From all of the roles I have played
I hold none in high regard.

When I dimmed it's glow
it would whisper:
"Do you hate me so,
in your despair?"