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Back to the darkness, deep ...
This bleak sojourn I have made
Times on end, dipping my eyes
To the dreadful forms that mock
Me, a maelstrom of words spinning
In my mind, to pinch the oppressive
Stench of this place. You have
Beckoned me, ages hence, howling
And shrieking 'til the discordant
Consequence I could refuse no more.
Hope, they call you? Oh, such a
Horrid and cruel parody! Do you
See in me a fool, then? A jaded
Harlequin? A multitude of monikers
Be yours, but THAT is the most
Absurd, and I shall not speak it!
Have you not known me in all the
Scratchings of dread and despair ...
In that stark honesty? You are the
Bastard of my passions, and you
Have worn this flesh as your own ...
Oh, how long I have watched from
The depths of sorrow while you
Dance in my form, somber moon
Cackling like a demon ... oh, how
You draw the very spirit from my
Trembling bones, my marrow sucked
Like pulpy food for your pleasure.
Such exquisite agony! Such divine
Misery, mine! Keen and carnal truth
Scrapes raw the depths of my spirit
With grisly intention, the blood of
My good and kind heart, stirred up
And imbibed as your remedy, and
The clotted matter spit in my face
With magnificent madness. Alas,
Dear Oblivion, the ebon sky now
Weeps - stars streaking earthward
Like ragged rain, till the heavens
Are as The Torment - lightless,
Devoid, barren, bloody. Thus, the
Last breath of a saint becomes the
First breath of a monster, and in
Feigning prescience of an answer
That will never come, I ask of you,
"Hope", in utter terror and awe ...
Why? Why do you taunt me so?!?
** SIXTH PLACE in the "In The Dark" Poetry Contest, Russell Sivey, Sponsor. **
Gregory R Barden