Dark Poetry Prose Poetry July 7, 2005 Dark Poetic Prose

07-07-05 thursday 10:40pm

the lives we are. stubborn embers left over from a fire long gone.

the thought seduces me. leather-clad solitude dominates, restrains and arouses.

in every form. in every way. the moment is. always has been. how it is now. in my grip. sifting through my fingers like raindrops falling from skies wicked with.

stopped waiting and just let. as would the soil let the grass grow. it just happens. it needs you there. but only in the most passive role.

stopped wanting and just was. whatever i had before them. whatever i'd been born with. not half. not whole. one third. maybe a little less.

the moments we are. all of them. gathering like clouds before a storm. dark and bloated. grumbling like cranky old men. the moments we are are not us. the choice is ours. should we become them.

faltering embers. burnt logs. the fire's gone. the ash recalls.

warm still, but never again to be hot.

what you know. what you knew of them. sand on the remnants now.

ensuring that every last remaining spark has been put out.