Torn Apart

Another World II: Torn Apart (by Jan Elgroth Talvinen)

 

In the middle of a small dark cold room

There is a bed and nearby a man

He's standing there silent, all overran

By feelings as dark as dark is his den

Of grief and sadness, impending doom

 

Lamp's failing light makes him so very cold

In this old pit where he shall sleep fast

And for all he knows, from his rich past

Will this room become the one, lastest last

That ever his warmth, his calm breath would hold

 

An abundance of things question his mind

Ke keeps asking self, one at a time.

Will he ever hear tones or taste sour limes

Will he sing songs, read beautiful rhymes

Can he rejoice, once he leaves peace to find?

 

This bed is the one, that one sleeps in for good

And he knows that well, for in his hand

A knife he holds his sorrow to mend

For his love was killed, faraway sent

There's no way back, just maggots and roots

 

So here he reposed awaiting no morn

The knife in one hand and his heart in his right

Cut out of his chest during the night

For last time he praised the Moon in her height

Lonesome, his heart apart was torn...