Dark Poetry Prose Poetry September 7, 2005 Dark Poetic Prose

9-07-05 wednesday 8:10am

the beauty lies not in what you are, but where you've been.
not with accrimonious applause from splintered tribes or rueful warriors.

the pen folds under my grip until every word i am possessed by and every memory possessed with.

the mistakes were never during. only after. no question of truth or purpose. just the cost of knowing.

09-07-05 wednesday 8:29am

early as the hour demands. later still than can be spun. new thread into frayed lives. raw skin covered up.

thoghts that drift without course for islands already lost to selfsame storm. where goes the hour as it lurches forward. toward pockets in a life that know not. gentle puckers in the shrouds we've worn daring misguided heroes to brandish their swords.

was there ever a mountaintop. a pinnacle. then these claws would surely not be dirty for naught. was there ever a thing called victory. or at least an end to the struggle. these weapons would be long ago useless. and this flesh by now healed.

09-07-05 wednesday 11:16pm

it tastes just like a lie as it touches the tongue. that fear in the belly of surging. the darkness is real. the night is sharp. cutting a path through the center of tomorrow.

let it lay. limp as the softest moments. tumbled like stones until smooth again. no need to move. just turn. and be turned with.

the pull of the threat. the push of desire. combined they become the choices we assume.

loose skins layed upon those that tend to constrict. to cover. and to reveal. as they are absorbed into who we are.