DEAR
Lovers of the dark:
On the third day of Poemmas, my blogger gave to me: a really dark stream of imagery. This poem was written about how confusing the depths of an insomniac mind can be, and how reality and dreams mangle together during the night. I hope you enjoy it.
Lovers of the dark:
On the third day of Poemmas, my blogger gave to me: a really dark stream of imagery. This poem was written about how confusing the depths of an insomniac mind can be, and how reality and dreams mangle together during the night. I hope you enjoy it.
Ranaway
Stumbling
away from the haters of joy,
sobbing, spurning– into
darkness hope
flailed. Reason, lost, turned to crash
into the
inky trees, its headlights smashed.
Limping, blaming,
unforgiveness
was bloody,
hate spurting; it shook blindly, accusing
the sliver moon
as it innocently looked on,
shining
sadly, dripping silver night.
Coughing, grabbing,
fear
tripped
through the underbrush, following
the
abandoned wails of unforgiveness. Hidden
behind the
forest’s shadow, shivers
caressed hope’s
spine, despair freezing her heart.
Losing
light, failing, hope peered up
as the silver
moon innocently looked on,
shining
sadly, dripping bright slivers of night.
Depression’s
soiled tendrils, calling, pulled hope
away, as
she lay on the shriveled hands of trees,
rotting on
the cold earth, gasping, curling into dark.
Dreamy
terror slowly emerged; fear
and
unforgiveness found hope’s fragile form, aged by
misery. Her
shivers ceased, eyes stared;
hope died all
alone.
With A Slight Shiver,
Joélle.