Dark Poetry Prose Poetry June 21, 2005 Dark Poetic Prose

06-21-05 tuesday 12:49pm

dark by its true definition is nothing. the absence of light.

not a thing at all, but merely a description for what is missing, gone or lost.

am i dark. only when you turn the light on.

06-21-05 tuesday 12:59pm

david picked up the pen. his hand trembled a bit at the thought of committing his ideas to the page. giving the ghosts in his head corporeal form. for though, he knew they would not literally come to life, he felt a sense that though they were real only to him, fictitious, that they would be believed.

but as he thought on this, he found himself bolstered by a new feeling. a blossoming sense of power.

so he wrote the words he had for all those many years prior held captive in his head.

and then immediately after, he erased them.

leaving behind only faints indents upon the paper.

06-21-05 10:44pm tuesday

donning the cloud. so it befalls. less light. but not yet dark. coaxing the rain to fall. because i am thirsty. thirsty again.

silver if. you might malign. or gold. still better yet. maybe platinum if you can rationalize.

perpetual are the musing of the defective grin. as it laughs at its own grief. as it mocks its own wisdom.

never satisfied with simply believing in.

never content to just give in.

but wanting this.

more than all those real people could ever imagine.

the leaf is brown, yet not willing to fall. it holds tight to the branch which no longer wants it.

the leaf is brown. all but dead. yet still it clings long after that chill has set in.

there's no approval nor debate upon in the land of poets. all is as serene as it is urgent.

don't wake me up from these words. don't recite them. just listen. softly as you can. as i whisper. whisper through the walls that divide us and them.

06-21-05 tuesday 11pm

papier-mache proponent of the that last belief. as it snoozes. content with the pillows it's cleaved.

don't you feel. won't you know it when it knows you. the real.

flesh and bone becoming.

ink and paper supplicating.

for fortune's favor is not kind. but people's is. for fortune knows not how or why these lives became what they did.

just listen to the sound of yourself as you trail into the ever. you'll never know who you are, until you're sure of what you're not.

move me, but don't shove. look at me, but don't judge.

i'm equal parts victim and villain.

i'm not looking for your answer. nor your approval when. i'm only talking to myself. wondering, does anyone listen.