Lost Years
7 November, 2006
Author: Rick Ryckman
Yesterday's cold memories come pouring into the night.
The demons are crossing my boundaries of fear.
My phantoms are pale in the twilight.
My despair came with its viperous grasp.
Trying to escape through the quicksand of time.
In my youth I remember the dreams once held.
There were no magical spells in my kingdom.
There were no wizards to sing me a healing song.
In the end the reaper will come to play his barbaric melody.
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