Dark Poetry Prose Poetry December 31, 2005 Dark Poetic Prose

12-31-05 saturday 12:08pm

we are cycles
that chase themselves,
blood remembers
what flesh forgets;

in stains that
spread, outward
from tired tortoises
whose races have yet

to begin.

we were everything
except what we wanted,
broken glass under foot
marking a path to.

it's red enough now.

12-31-05 10:13pm saturday

the shadow waits within the darkness while surrounded by the light. made by it and yet never to be a part of. this night more than any other is. though every one lacks that substance it once had. this one moreso underscores all i've sacrificed.

The world takes this night out of any other to do what i do most every one. they slip inside the membrane of my tomb and wear it for a while. but come morning, for them it's washed away. while day in and day out i live inside its thin walls. seeing out. and being seen. but still kept from reaching the world out there. the life i once saw myself cultivating, but quickly lost.

the shadow is the result of light and yet never can the two meet. just as my life creates the opportunity to live, but i cannot get near enough for it to happen. because when the light comes too close the shadow is gone.

and as the light moves away, it does return again. with it always, but at a distance.

itself and still only a biproduct of something else.

always alone no matter how near it gets.

12-31-05 saturday 11:11pm

tepid minutes in hours stark unfold in valiant precision. as though we are or have ever been a part of this puzzle which assembles us.

blunt fingers attract dried blood. to the white the red is drawn. as to the dark the light insists. that these shapes we are somehow, somday will learn to fit.

it only happened once, but that was enough. it only said nothing as i begged.

in tumbles soft with molded hearts. as the clay would listen the fingers wrought. what could not be true outside these hands was made real within.

as time impaled the wound was halted. for a moment. to remember. only to remember forgotten skins.

not to pick them up from on the paths they've dropped. only to mark in our minds the graves we must dig for them.

someday when there's time enough to grieve for.