The Writers' Circle

I stand tall, 
with the hidden strength 
of unknown knowledge 
carved in my soul.
Pain is just a form of control.
If I stray from the predestined path
conscience persecutes my sanity
until the weight of supposed sin
becomes too much to carry.
Well no more will I die
with the guilt of humanity
burning my insides,
I defy the law
and revenge this behaviour,
as I scream in harmony
with the piercing wind 
the howling night,
from beyond the grave
finally free,
can I enjoy
this sardonic, black, comedy.