Poem: Surviving the Dagger

 In the shadowed realm of the nearly departed, Where whispers of death lurk and dart, I stand, a survivor, bearing the mark Of a dagger's kiss, cruel and stark.

A wound, a gash, a gaping maw, Once threatened to swallow me whole, Yet, I am here, with a heart that's cold, A tale of survival, waiting to be told.

The moon, a silver shroud, casts eerie light, On the edge of a blade, gleaming bright, An instrument of darkness, of pain and fright, That sought to extinguish my fragile spark.

But, behold! I've bested the beast, The dagger lies still, its power ceased, No longer a threat, now just a feast, For the eyes of the night, as they embark.

The dagger, a symbol, of battles fought, A testament to the scars that I've got, A reminder of the war that I've wrought, And the victory I've snatched from the dark.

I've danced with the shadows, I've tasted the night, I've faced the dagger, and taken its bite, But, still, I rise, ready to take flight, A survivor, forever unyielding, forever marked.