Dark Poetry Prose Poetry January 7, 2006 Dark Poetic Prose

01-07-05 saturday 10:06pm

she was. is. that which i imagine her to be. fluid siren at the cortex of my need. she is only real to herself when someone else decides she is. she could be anything. yet this is what she chooses. she could be their world instead of theirs being hers. if she'd only look away for a moment from the spectacle she's become she might see how real her tears are. how false is her grin.

just stones under foot as walks the path so oblivious. fall forward. then catch yourself before that shadow gets too close. minute after minute adding length to the ropes these lives hang themselves with.

has it not been. as always it must. that darkness does not wait for the light to end, but rather slowly consumes it.

it's not a difficult task to gather the seeds. but where in this landscape so dense with grief is anything else to grow?