Old poem from my journal.
by Marcus Twyman
Do you know what it's like for the dark to touch you?
I appreciate the quietness of midnight's virtue,
When the light comes in the morning, will I still be alive?
For, my soul's in eternal mourning no matter how hard I try.
Could it be that I'm unknowing of how my love should be released?
No one knows how I feel, maybe that's why I can't reach for peace.
*I have three dried rose petals pressed between the pages where this poem is written.