Hateful Grief Poem by Makayla Johnson

The single light shines brightly
upon the rows of dead.
It glistens oh-so softly
off the bloodstained heads.

I wander through the black abyss,
I feel a burn inside.
It seems as though naught's amiss.
In the world that I reside.

But it claws at me with burning hate,
it rakes and then it screams,
the ringing in the metal grate,
the cage within my dreams.

I listen for the laughter,
I know it always comes,
the laughing and the grinning after
the sound of metal drums.

The face of hate is black-toothed,
dirty, but not without allure.
It sings and rings above my roof
and I follow with a purr.

I drift among the silver clouds,
the unforgiving eye,
I float as long as it allows
and let out a single sigh.

And then, in a flash, it reforms,
and roars with all its might,
I reach up for the golden morn
but catch only fright.

And it laughs so deep, so content
as it devours me.
I wake with deep, shocking lament
and grief is all I see.