Deep into the fog,
That crawls throughout the night,
Lay waiting–Misery–
Who will overtake the light.
A shadow calm by day,
A butcher holding on,
To the agonizing myth
Of this life and the beyond.
But then when darkness mounts,
Shedding blackness on your ghost,
Erupts our friend, dear Misery,
Dancing sprightly from her post.
Frolicsome she acts,
As she prances through the haze,
But underneath her rapture,
Is a death-dance to amaze.
Cumbersome this life is,
Dropping boulders in your road,
Planted there by Misery,
The bitch who loves to goad.
She shall walk upon your grave,
Although you haven’t entered,
And are convinced you never will,
So deluded and self-centered.
Kiss thee goodnight she does,
And she does it with a smile,
As you drift into unconsciousness,
So sweet and so worthwhile.
Pray to not awaken,
To this fog, never return
Misery loves her company,
And she’ll love to watch you burn.

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Poetry Classics: Invictus By William Ernest Henley