(This poem is dedicated to the Greek poets, playwrights and authors, who helped me fall in love with the art of story telling.)
In the darkest corners of my mind,
Chronos holds a clock, that he begins to wind.
It opens up a secret door,
Full of skeletons and more.
Deeper in the darkest part,
Lies the beating of a heart.
Blackened from the lack of light,
Devoured by a loveless blight.
A staircase leads to the final floor,
It’s my own Tartarus, my demonic core.
The only occupant is a rusted box.
When opened it releases a deadly pox.
The contents are demons of a vast array,
They consume my life — Both night and day.
With all of my demons surrounding me,
I feel like I can never truly be free.
When all seems lost and I just can’t cope.
The box releases it’s last prisoner — Hope.