Posts Tagged ‘dark’

I listen to music with the lights off.

It’s like being asleep,

like lucid dreaming–

aware of the sounds,

but only the sounds, the notes.

I close my eyes

and the music fills me up.

My ears are what hear it;

my heart is what feels it, and pumps

the feeling that is more than just one feeling

throughout my body

and my head is empty,

devoid of probing thoughts,

but quickly filled

with music

and feeling.

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If a minute were longer then so,

long enough to wonder

if my decisions will be transparent

or if they will last and people will know.

And long enough to wander

through the dark streets at dawn,

through the narrow streets accompanied

by a body of yellow fog,

and walk until the morning yawns into existence,

and then proceed through the halls I have come to know,

but with each step

I continue to grow, as all people do,

in that unseen way.

 

And who am I to leave something

more than ephemeral

on an otherwise simple scene, on an otherwise

simple day? Is it right

for me to ask for a bit of permanence,

to ask for more than a footprint

in the snow or in the sand?

Is it right for me to deny something grand?

Is it right for me to ask

for nothing more than the seemingly infinite warmth

in the clasp of a hand?

For, in a minute, what I announce

will be read, forgotten,

or- perhaps- renounced.

 

“I felt a Funeral, in my Brain…” -Emily Dickinson

I felt a funeral, in my Mind,

like the slow decension

of the Sun clearing way for Dusk.

And- it seemed- the Procession

carried Reason in the polished Casket.

And the Dirge began to play,

Mourners faces remained Stoic,

the absence of Sagacity

weighed heavy on my head.

No riveting Ecstasy

as the cathedral opened up,

releasing a Necessity unto Heaven.

written 14 November, 2014

Yellow light has become our new carpet.

Light, like grief, reveals

us. And the lilacs gather bees

as my friends gather affection.

Light is my sour token.

Wind is the other.

 

Here is this summer light, but

people would rather wait

for news of stabbings, shootings, and massacres-

though, being human, won’t admit it-

and choose shadow.

But this is ordinary.

Even ornithologists do not fully understand

the language of birds.

There goes the white candle.

Its aura blooms yellow and orange,

the sky changes, like a lover

recently scorned, tears and blood and

whispers and promises and the heat swept up

into the darkening inferno.

Here’s to you, the End-Of-Day,

the end of my clarity, the end of my certainty.

Without you we are all thrust under night’s tongue.

We all grasp for moonlight. We remain

weary of shadows.

Here’s to you, Reminder-

we must all fade, eventually.

It was when I realized that

shadows

have no color,

and sunlight is white,

that music turned to thunder

in my ears,

and I was blind for a moment,

because I had seen

and had to give back in to the mirage

I had been raised to see

in order to see once more.

Black bird

on my mind.

Peck, caw, tilt head

side to side.

Your dark eyes

are black glass- immobile.

On top of my head

your sharp beak jabs

into my scalp.

Blood trails down

like tears, like red slugs.

I sigh. Your talons have grown

into my skull.

I’ll provide nourishment for you,

if you continue to inspire me.