Wasted sacrifice

What sacrifices have you made in life?

At 2:10 a.m., the silence cracked—
A thud upon my door attacked.
Not wind, nor dream, nor drifting leaf,
But something cloaked in silent grief.

An orchestrated dread took form,
Not born of man, but bred in storm.
My body seized in lightning thread,
Their unseen hands filled me with dread.

Rathe, perhaps, and kin of might,
Their riches veiled beneath the night.
They hate the truths I dare to write,
So came to dim my journal’s light.

My audio played—a sacred tone,
To shield my mind, to stand alone.
Yet still they came, in creeping wrath,
To halt my soul upon its path.

At 2:59 a.m., the pain returned—
A needle’s kiss, my foot it burned.
The right one marked, but not my will,
For I arose—resilient, still.

I did not scream, I did not run,
I turned once more to words begun.
To finish what they sought to break,
To write the truth for silence’s sake.

They reign with wealth and whispered sway,
Their hands in courts, their names hold sway.
But none recall the faith they preach—
The temple’s near, yet out of reach.

So mean of soul, so lost, so blind,
They kill the voice that seeks to find.
I am but small—a grain, a spark—
Yet still I write against the dark.