Longing of my Dark Poet

My days are the drizzling of the rain,
The shine of darkness at the bottom of a pristine grave.
My days are a breathing sorrow,
No more than a memory of some aloof age.

And every breath seams to cause me pain.
It rips me asunder, hauls me and rives.
My whole being is pleading you in silence:
Become once again the light of my world.