How old our sins, how young our age
When looking through barred doors.
Only the howls and moans resound
From victims of these shores.
The sea’s embrace is shrewd and sly,
Luring the weak of heart.
Those who view beyond its beauty
Won’t love the decayed art.
Inside this icy prison fort
A lone man was sleepin’
Quickly stirred by a lightning strike,
His limbs shook and weaken’d.
So cold, and so afraid, he was:
The young man who lay bare.
Accused and shamed, but innocent;
It mattered not in there!
Under the curse of his own taunts,
He curled up on the floor.
Demons appeared to push him down
Until he fought no more.
Farewell, to strength; forget courage!
It faded and soon died
And his righteous spirit did emit
A shrill, anguished cry.
But a voice spoke deep in his heart
To free him from the woe.
“You are just and true,” it claimed.
“Only this you must know.”
Climbing up from the dirty floor,
He questioned his torment:
Why must he ache and always weep?
Only sinners should lament!
So a mighty sword, he did own
To slain the cunning snake.
Facing the fiend, he cried: Be gone!
Hope from fear he did make.
When he escaped the haunted cell
Many still hated him.
Once so adored, the hope soon fled,
Their trust was scarce and grim.
But he had truth and dignity
To push him past their scorn
Slain by family, and left betrayed,
But his friends one day mourned.
At last, his tragic tale was told!
And the real villain found.
Regret marred every man who made
Him live on the cold ground.
A muse to all, he soon became,
The soldier for pity.
Death be not proud for taking him,
‘Til we gain liberty.
How old our sins, how young our age
When barred by our own doors!
Inside us we find truth
To escape these dire shores.
Lament To A Lone Soul by Insecurity
Chapter Notes: So, this is the first poem I have written since I was an angst-filled fourteen-year-old, so feel free to point and laugh. Thanks to Gary for telling me *precisely* what strange metre this was in at first and helping me to get it right.