Too Late

So many times, so many faces
struck down in times gone by,
silence in a dawn of tears.

Fears drive me higher
climbing with broken wings,
trembling at the close of time.

Tortured souls 'round me reek
dying in despair,
never finding relief they seek.

They rise in stench and gore,
mirrors everywhere, running but cannot hide,
hot knives, piercing in their side.

So many times, so many faces
the same mistakes again,
shame in a dawn of pain.

Rain takes me higher
cleansing me of the blood,
too late, at the close of life.

By Errol W. Angus

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