Pain's Glory Poem by Ron Pate

Anguished tears beset my heart, overwhelming it, in the loneliness of a darkest night.

If pain hath glory, it shall be one of torment to the soul, until all resolve is mislaid and my hope remains fettered away.

Candescent stars shine ever so bright illuminating a sky, as I lie with heavy heart, relentlessly trying to close my eyes.

If pain hath glory, it shall be one of torment to the soul, until all resolve is mislaid and my hope remains fettered away.

A visitant calm enlaces with the moon's presence while passing across it's  vault, as it is clearly seen from my window.   Gazing out seeking repose from the emptiness, my mind battles on and on.

If pain hath glory, it shall be one of torment to the soul, until all resolve is mislaid and my hope remains fettered away.

Pitch circumvents my will as words laid to parchment through a blood filled quill speaks softly. The night closes and dawns early light hazes over my eyes.

If pain's accolade is to be known, it shall be held within the darkest of my nights and my soul's hope is unshackled with a dew drenched morning's resolve.