By: Anahi Padilla

I lay, I die,
in my grave down below
my grave of hate and red and loss
bereaved of Your Grace’s
heavenly rays

I lay, I wither,
strapped to the cotton and fabric by cold sweat
unable to free myself from chains and thorns
my dreams, my hopes, my train,
they bleed
fears and tears now corse my veins

I lay, I perish,
Darkness my permanent tormenter
his grip knifes of fire
my tears my prayers
that I ask of Your Priest
but The Moon never answers

I lay, I die,
with false promises of the light

When doth Your Grace Shine again

O’ please, O’ Lord,
I await your call
to escape The Dark,
to breathe again

O’ please, O’ Lord,
Insomnia plagues your children

O’ Please, O’ Lord,
save the ones who worship

The Sun