I Cry on a Nightmare Waking (A Poem)

Which side of the veil do my screams fall,
when the heart oppressed by a slumber's thrall
is weighed down by a disease of the soul
where the bones of memory wait?

This distinct Hell, found by the fate of my hands,
out of my hands, was grown from the blood of my fathers,
and the sins in myself, and is sheltered in the palms
of a shadowed madness.

Split by a sadness buried deep in the first breath.
My fear of death is dually matched by desire,
as I'm pulled from the fire
of the dark halls in my dreams.

Torn at the seams, Reality feels surreal.
And waking, I cannot help to feel
that Heaven seems far away,
and will not hear my call.