Some men walk into darkness
and return with quieter eyes,
their voices worn thin in places
where every memory dies.

Tell me, is there really any answers?

Some learn to fear the silence,
some learn to curse the night,
some spend what remains of themselves
still searching for the light.

The only thing real is pain, in this
world.

But there are those who linger
where shadows have no end,
until the dark stops hunting them
and takes them as a friend.

Don't you want it, like I want it?

Their laughter fades to embers.
Their words grow sparce and cold.
They stop explaining wounds
no living tongue could hold.

Tell me, where the hell did I go wrong?

And when at last they surface,
there is little left to say.
The man who entered darkness
did not wholly walk away.

Can you not feel it?

So, he stands among the living,
silent as the grave beneath

Some men, don't survive within the darkness.

Some men, become it.


Penned by my hand on the 4th of Sarapin, in the year 1012 AF.