Tuesday, February 28, 2012

I Can Only Reach The Black

Hope, the fire of pending morrows
Once burned soft but bright as day.
Now the merest flicker borrows
Time to sputter, waxing fey.

'Lo my canvas unappointed
Born to stretch the light itself
Now with monochrome anointed
Paler shades of former self.

Not the pall of charcoal dusting
Nor the grey of sidewalk crack
Color bled from life by trusting
I can only see the black.

Glamours die with wounded whispers,
Summoning like ringing vespers--

I can only reach the black.

Anything But Pictures

I try to find some solace
In the day, hoping that light
Should staunch the dark of
My eyes, my heart . . .
The chasm where my soul
Used to be.

Leaning in the doorframe
Misty as a moondrop
The light proves too revealing--
My guts scream fire
Bouncing 'round inside me.

There is no comfort but
The craving.

I stagger from the frame,
Steadied not by the
Everyday daggers
Lurking around corners,
Or on shelves
Brick-a-brack bringing burning memories . . .

No light, no, no, no . . .
The dark proves too inviting.

No spark of hope
Burns behind these
Incandescent tears.

Who knows where shadows dwell,
Where Hurt hides until it hunts?
Who knew the human heart
Was photosensitive?

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