In my dark and dreary
Childhood, that only Mr. Poe
Could so explicitly portray
I held on to the night
And listened to what the walls
Might say.
It was not really the walls
But the spirit between them
And me, whom I knew to be
My God, always there
Though I could not see.
And I would sleep and
In the morning awaken
To find that my prayers
From the night before
Had not been forsaken.
But later in the day
Demons would come to
Torment my skin, rile
Up my passions and
Lead me to sin.
I harbored bad thoughts
And bad feelings
And all that was bad
Was within my heart;
But in the end, my God
Made known that such
Things would only
Keep us apart.
Apart.
The word echoed sullenly
In my head. I went to sleep
That night dreading the
Walls around my bed.
My God awakened me at
An ungodly state of the night.
He stirred me from sleep
And quickly dampened
My fright. I knelt in bed and
Regarded the spirit
Between the walls and me,
For it was my God again
Come to embrace me.
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