Yield, a requiem

Yield, I scream
a virtue in whose frozen midst I stand,
  hoping that the scars,
  the pain, the suffering, won't show,
endlessly hoping.

And yet,
 even on in the face of probing scopes,
in the midst of everything,
 those that have already discovered it.

With that, a kind of darkness enfolds over all,
  the despondence, depression,
 the overriding right to a free verse,
in life,
and death,
poetry,
   and just in thought,
Raging like a wild knight in the wilderlands beyond the map.

Some hurts, as in wars and fire,
  Run deep within the veins of humanity,
 No scope or impression left on the outside,
Yet, within,
Ravaged, chaos.

Crack down, one to shout,
Deep into a dying abyss,
Where the last legions of the sun,
 fade... 
into nothing...