Dark Poetry Prose Poetry September 11, 2005 Dark Poetic Prose

09-11-05 sunday 10:46pm

what is time other than that weight on our shoulders when we shrug. life. just a volcano which erupted us. hot lava cooling into something solid.

no rooster eyes to wake me up. no lullaby voices to tuck me in.

guessing thoughts and proven lies. hooked brow. like fishes caught.

what can there be left to want? now that everything has been had and lost.

this devil's lyric has no rhyme. no music. just a drum that pounds.

this angel's song has no notes. just the silence that cries so loud.

never enough. and always too much.

like the furtive whispers of conscience that never break the surface of my drowning.

to lose would be my only victory.

09-11-05 sunday 11:23 pm

astounded by. how your truth betrays you. covered in the sweat from traumatic dreams that refuse to end.

the dead bird still flies when you look at it.

such is the look of handless puppets. limp skins impotent without their plastic skeletons.

eager as the final footstep before the door. frail as the shameless hand too weak to clutch.

sprained fingers. broken thumb. you reach the pain, but nothing else can touch.