Out of time

 

There are some fates

worse than that

of standing at hells gates.

Some fates worse than death,

that final gurgled breath.

Sometimes you come back.

 

Now don't get me wrong

I didn't exactly long

to be gone,

to be stuck in hell for eternity

nor heaven for that matter,

I was enjoying life,

alas that glass did shatter

and the fine sands scatter

 

Time plays tricks with your mind.

I was remembering 1854.

The Crimean war had just begun,

I was supposed to be

fighting for queen and country,

but then something happened to me.

I can't remember clearly.

 

I awoke in 1984 with puncture marks

upon my throat, An aversion to garlic

and a completely new distrust

of holy relics or symbols.

Sunlight burnt, I slept as others woke.

I walked the night-time streets,

trying to make sense of a world

I didn't belong in, I was hungry.

The pain stung somewhere dark inside.

It sang to me in colours red and deep,

I needed blood to seep

to help me find my peace.

 

I stalked the streets, prowling the alleys.

The nocturnal city valleys,

the giant metal buildings frighten me.

Lghts shone bright,

not gaslight, some future magic.

I only know I don't feel I belong,

I don't feel right.

I'm a man out of time,

and the shadows

are my only lifeline.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading

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Kyle