The Poetry of Darkling Plain: August 2012

Saturday, August 4, 2012

Me

Me

I made an etching of my soul
At the bottom of a fine red goblet -
And only you could see straight through,
Down past the dregs
Where others glimpse the prima facia me.
As darkly through a mirror I pass
The depths of my soul in verse,
To wit -
Note that I am well dressed here.
Victorian sensibilities never stopped me
From laying my soul bare,
While on this plane I'm all high collar
And mutton sleeves...
A spit-stained handshake is what I offer
At the bottom of the parting glass.

~Darkling Plain, Jun. 26, 2008

Hurt Like Hell

I loved the way you signed your name

With a keyboard at the end.

The end.

Where we put down our pens.

Two lunchtime freaks

You passed me music sheets

I passed you poetry

We passed the year

In the mutual appreciation society.

I won't be coming back next year

Between tears you said everything would

Be alright.

I wouldn't be writing poems about

People in the middle of the night

About to kill themselves.

I said you were going to be a great musician

And I'd proudly claim I knew you when

Keep in touch

Lost touch

Last touch

Eighteen years old

Such a bold year

To be alive.

My soul broke

The day I heard,

And my pen ran dry

As my tears ran steady.

Now here I sit

At thirty-four

Your picture on my desk

Your words in my mind

You're still as young

As I remember.

My pen is full my muse,

Speak to me.

~Darkling Plain, Apr. 11, 2008

Lapdog

Lapdog

Lapdog sitting at the crotch of the king
He thinks he's the one in control.
Bays to the moon with a silver spoon
By lives expended untold.
Neutered in the back
By a dung sodden hack
Who claims he is leige to the throne,
Lapdog licks at the killing floor
Blood of countless souls unknown.
He thinks he's pedigreed
But anyone can see
That he's just another mutt -
A plaything for the nut
Who sits at the head of the table,
Thinks the crumbs are steak
But they'll break him just the same
When the master gets tired of the game

~Darkling Plain, Mar. 31, 2007

The Weary Traveler (man by the roadside)

Sitting alone on his netted chair throne
The king waits for word from the sages
He stares at the world of modern disdain
And the banal deceit of the ages.
Across the divide of time and of tide
The bridegroom waits long for the bride -
Torn at the seams both his coat and his dreams
Sit idle till the end of these times.
He knew of a place and her sweet, gentle face
He was once one of seven lords gone,
He now sits with the dust -
The mold and the rust
A vagabond fool he is bound.
In a world with no mercy,
For to love him is heracy
He langors in foul imitation,
They say he's insane but he knows the truth plain
This world is but transient station.
Devoid of the right and cloaked in the night
Of death and scarce imagination,
He smokes the blunt nub of a used cigarette
As his thoughts they float far
(Fireflies in a jar)
And he muses with anticipation -
We're a spec on a spec on a spec here below
There are millions of worlds left to see,
But he vows to stay here to learn what he may
The easy way never is free.
As he drifts off to sleep just another lost soul
He visits his home from afar
In etherial dream
Life is not what it seems
But visions, sometimes they are.

~Darkling Plain, Mar. 10, 2007

Dreams and Awakenings

She bent to discover

The blood of her lover
Smeared aimlessly across the stair,
The deep shade of claret
As two pairs of eyes met
She noted the grey of his hair -
And all of the lies she once told herself
Laid bare with the truth they were bidden
He was gone for so long
With his thought and his song,
She was laid low when she recognized him.
He studied her face and caught a swift trace
Of shared dreams he knew were for certain,
She brushed his hair back 'neath the gooey sweet tack
That covered his face while emerging.
And an ounce of congition
Like stocked ammunition
Exploded behind the reflection,
Of lifetimes ago when they really did know
And played in the backyard of Eden.
He sang her a song
And she sat there rapt, long
And discovered she already knew -
She sang sweet in time
With indelible rhyme
As the two became one in the moment,
The world fell away as they began to play
On the stings of the songs of the ages.

~Darkling Plain, Feb. 6, 2006

Tomorrow

I'm searching for you
In every crestfallen face,
Every downtrodden place
Every dive.
I'm hunting big game
But the stakes are the same
And I'm feeling just less than alive.
I've gone over and back
through every dark track
and every odd branch you left bended -
At the end of the road
The streets paved with gold
Of every heart broken made mended.
I've only begun to gaze at the sun
To go blind would be well worth the prize,
Pentance I've made on this purgatory plane
I lay prostrate at the doors of this Eden -
Reflect on a life
The pain and the strife
Given to all to learn lessons.
The secrets laid bare,
The joy that we share
Will shake in the boughs of the heavens -
In the end we shall be
Like the limbs of that tree
Bended not broken -
Resplendent.

~Darkling Plain, Jan. 15, 2007

Babel

Pain is pain is pain I said

The outside's dark, the inside's red

A tower of Babel – it matters not

Pain is pain is pain.

Blood is blood is blood I know

The darkest red we never show

Just suck it up and swallow whole

Blood is blood is blood.

Guilt is guilt today, tomorrow

Useless, selfish shallow sorrow

A painful pleasure in which we wallow
Guilt is guilt is guilt.

Apathy is apathy is apathy, you see

Never mind, you bother me

The world be damned I say to thee!

Apathy is apathy after all.

Thus life is life is life I wrote

A wheel of fortune on which we're broke

From feast or famine we all are bloat

And Atlas, all of us, I note

Life is life is life.

~Darkling Plain, Nov. 15, 2006

Twenty-Five

I turned twenty-five

In my mind today

'Tis a good year -

I think I'll stop here

And linger a while,

A decade or two -

Too old for a child
Too young for the truth of

Life and what it can do.

It's a hundred and five -

I don't mind,

I'll leisurely stroll

Amid my urban snobbishness

And poverty chic,

Past the old apothecary

And gas lamp lit homes -

Places George Washington

Would have known,

Coffee bar stoned

Separated from self.

My want for a brownstone

And baby grand piano

The seed of conformity

And the price of conventionality

Just a few years away,

But my existential angst

Won't register yet -

Invincible and eternally young.

~Darkling Plain, Nov. 8, 2006

Bastard

Bastard

A mayday call to arms it seems

Your many charms are wrecking me

I'm sleeping with the enemy

Take what you want and render me.

I'm fighting on the losing side

Fighting for my stubborn pride

I hit you with a diatribe of incompatibility

But your scrying glass eye tore into me

Never one for sympathy,

You made me cry.

So talk to me boy

Tell me what you know

You're not the everyday Romeo

You fished me out of misery

Now I'm drowning in your empathy

Two more steps and I will be

Dying in your arms tonight

See…

You've reduced me to

Quoting 80's lyrics.

You bastard.

~Darkling Plain, Oct. 24, 2006

Nothing

Heaven.

What can you offer?

Freedom from pain?

Could I ever stay long enough

To forget this earthly plane,

The salve to every jagged hack in my

Soul's flesh not withstanding?

As to pain,

An ever present banquet where the dog

Paws begging for the discarded scraps of delight,

Little bits of joy taken here and there,

Perhaps it is for the best -

Eternal bliss could get wearisome,

And fattening,

After a while.

But I digress;

I'll tell you this...

I've done everything and nothing,

Met everyone and no one,

Traveled forwards and back,

Sat in this place and that as

I've looked here and there,

To and from every angle,

For every angle,

Lit the fires and put them out,

Set the target and missed the mark.

And still,

Still,

You tell me,

When I know everything,

When I meet everyone,

When I go everywhere,

When I take everything,

I will be full.

I doubt it.

I will be nothing,

Because I have nothing to strive for.

Then again,

Perhaps that's what I'm searching for...

Nothing.

~Darkling Plain, Oct. 22, 2006

Something from the Back of My Brain

Progress of the modern man

Will not be mine with withered hands

The face of life I can't abide

I'll take my chance -

The turning tide

Will see me dead before the dawn

I know I'm not the only one

To feel the putrid breath of failure

Keelhauled like the condemned sailor

Brace myself for what's to come

Knock back the lukewarm purser's rum

Dead before I'm twenty five

Was never glad to be alive.

~Darkling Plain, Oct. 13, 2006

Club Twenty-Seven

Thoughts run from acidic to basic

Rubbed raw with strong lye soap

Dressed and prepared for sacrifice

…I deny myself.

My heart will go on beating

Though my body's laid to waste

My soul flayed piece meal daily

An offering of conventionality

…I deny myself.

They will not find me splayed

Naked on a public stair, Aztec style

As our pop culture god-men are allowed…

This a snuff film viewed by a crowd

Of a couple hundred well wishers

…I deny myself.

I choose the weapon of my undoing

From an assortment, years in the making…

A noose of lace

A cubicle board iron maiden

And a tv dinner for one with a trace of botulinum

…I deny myself.

I take the lace

Step to the altar and seal my fate

My own Shroud of Turin

In this sacred place

Dead at twenty-seven.

~Darkling Plain, Oct. 13, 2006

A Sickle for My Thoughts

A sickle moon reaps memories

Of yesterday's failures -

Magazine slick.

Black and white turns to grey

The red always runs -

It ruins the image.

~Darkling Plain, Sept. 29, 2006

A Most Unusual Affair

I visited with my demons

Though the choice was not my own,

They showed me all my failures

Every chance I'd ever blown.

I dined with insipidity

Who served a dish so cold,

It tasted of a cardboard box

From when I was thirteen years old.

I kept my pictures hidden there

My visions of the world,

Shot with the zoom of a child's eye

The edges had started to curl.

Thus knowing I liked photography

Doubt took me by the hand,

He led me to a dark room

So small I could hardly stand.

He showed me the photos I'd snapped of life

How he stole them I could not describe,

And in spite of the method – the way I was taught

Not one was black and white.

Finally regret with a hint of a smile

Served a blood red cordial so smooth,

I knocked back every glass he poured

My troubled mind to sooth.

Yet the brew ran out both sides of my mouth

And dribbled onto my dress,

I wanted it cleaned but the stain was set

As my dreams were put to rest.

And at last allowed to take my leave

With pen so hot it burned,

I purged them all from the place where I crawled

A hard taught lesson learned.

As one by one my works were done
No grace for this insolent soul,

I wrote in blood on parchment pale

Half is bigger than the whole.

~Darkling Plain, Sept. 26, 2006

Bicycle Wheels and Veritas

My little rebel, just ride on past

When the road gets too rough

You can run through the grass

I won't stop you, Little Boy Blue.

No need to say your future is cast

You'll never do this or you'll never do that

The last shall be first and the first shall be last

That's why I'm telling you Little Boy Blue,

Go spin awhile -you take a ride

I'll be waiting here on the other side

For you to come home and I'll abide

You know the truth deep down inside

My beautiful Little Boy Blue.

You see the world in a way I can't

Your perception is reality, little man

And if there's a God, in any way I can

I'll walk with you Little Boy Blue.

You take all the time you need

To figure out this realm of greed

Countless lives wasted in futile chase

On the principles of saving face

But the luck of the draw is your saving grace

No fakeness here my little prince

My sincerest Little Boy Blue.

And if you don't like the way others go

You can make your own way in the world, you know

And you'll never be wont for an ally in tow

I'm right here, Little Boy Blue.

~Darkling Plain, Sept. 22, 2006

Possibly the Worst Poem I've Ever Written

Possibly the Worst Poem I've Ever Written

Fucked up day

Fucked up day

Thought they were over

Fuck no way.

Waitin' for my head

To pop

No stoppin'

This

Fucked up day.

Sleepin's for the weak

No need to speak

it.

I'll just keep goin'

That's what good little

Soldiers do:

Buck up

Suck it up.

Fucked up day

~Darkling Plain, Sept. 21, 2006

Wishing Well

My right foot's jammed in a wishing well

My left foot's sending me straight to hell

I'm a south paw too so I'm demon possessed -

An outcast in a world full of lawlessness

They'll drag me from here and set me to pay

For a thousand sins in my head today.

I'm too good to be a criminal

Too bad I'm not a saint,

I'm trapped in the vice

'tween what I am and what I ain't -

A casual visionary and rogue missionary

Are these chains necessary?

I've nowhere to escape.

White square to black square

Black square to white

Tie my hands tight -

I won't confess

My mouth is dry –

I can't protest

My days stretch into nothingness,

Trapped here in my worthlessness.

I tell myself in time this too will pass

The last will be first and the first will be last

But in a storm of reality strapped to the mast -

Can't see beyond my checkered past.

And they'll burn me at the stake

When the gavel strikes the board

To my psyche I've become

Both slave and lord,

But of this I am assured

As the four winds blow -

Nothing is duller than the driven snow.

~Darkling Plain, Sept. 18, 2006

Full Moon Chronicle III

The world wobbled on its axis today

Ever so slightly

Shaking me gently, waking me -

No one else noticed.

Under dark canopy of trees I did drive

Soothing a care worn mind

As moonlight on the lake
Made my insides churn -

In a good way.

The hairpin turns – a lover's caress

Ushered in a full message

While sunflowers by a road block

Bluegrass to each side

Expanded my vision.

And further down the road

An old car being sold

As prelude to a finer edition

Cherry red with manual transmission -

Restlessness turned to ecstasy

At these thoughts, seeing me

For the first time.

~Darkling Plain, Sept. 14, 2006

A Silly Little Ditty

Oh whiskey you're not the devil -

I think you angelic still.

All I ask is when I pass

Give me ten year old Bushmills.

In heavenly bliss I'll sip with the saints

And raise a glass to God -

The water of life

Gave me no strife,

I'll pass on the bloody grog.

~Darkling Plain, Sept. 13, 2006

Hemorhage

Blood flow,

Seeping below toenails and

Red-rimmed eyes.

Grape cells crushed to wine, splatter

A retreat from brain and heart,

A repeat -

Slipping into satin sleep

A deep down warm,

A falling, whispering wisp,

To the ground, in the ground,

Grounded,

Not quite.

~Darkling Plain, Sept. 12, 2006

MAD

MAD

My red phone's flashing,

It must be you calling.

What's it this time?

A dull knife?

Russian roulette?

Cat claws out yet?

A verbal blackjack to the back of my brain?

You seem to always miss the front;

That's the seat of reason.

Escalate.

Take your time.

I'll sit here in my silo,

My key in the lock,

Your head on the block;

But you don't know it.

I'd love to use my words;

What a pity,

They'd miss that pretty

Head of yours,

Flying high over it.

So ready your missiles,

I'll ready mine.

Steady…

No game?

What a shame.

I was hoping for

Mutually Assured Destruction.

~Darkling Plain, Sept. 12, 2006

On the Cusp of Thirty-Four

I found the pictures in a box

I hadn't looked at them in years

I was eighteen, I was twenty-one

I was beautiful.

At the time I didn't think I was.

I now look upon my eyes and mouth

And skin and hair with regretful wonder

I will never look that good again.

I never embraced my beauty

As a woman.

As a human.

My hair it was redder

My skin it was smoother

My lips they were fuller

My body it was firmer

And I was smart to boot…good God.

I only looked to what the boys around me wanted

Blonde hair, blue eyes, big breasts

I didn't have it.

I wanted it.

I was so stupid.

I should have strutted down the street

I should have worn a tighter skirt

I should have been a little flirt

Should've, Would've, Could've.

Confidence came to me with age

I know who I am

I wish I knew then.

It's true what they say…

Youth is wasted on the young.

~Darkling Plain, Sept. 12, 2006

Tennyson's Lady

I read The Lady of Shallot

When I was but a child

And dreamed of my Sir Lancelot

Thinking all the while

The curse was of

Unrequited love

For surely that would kill

No deeper pain that one could bear

Too young to know fate's will

But now I know the truth of it

The story's mine to tell

I have my knight

I am his lady

I have two heirs as well

I was granted more than most will reap

Caught everything I chased

Yet still I float to Camelot

God in His mercy lend her grace...

Indeed.

~Darkling Plain, Sept. 12, 2006

Ill At Ease

Words germinated from

Seemingly nowhere

Set my insides ill-at-ease

Bile from the

Darkest places

The bitterest pieces were

Tinged Pink

Curled up next to the fire

With paper and a drink

I thought about the bigger

Scheme of things

Trust is rare wood.

The burn is slow;

Don't squander it.

You know

It's the stuff that

Life and dreams are made of

You may need it for warmth

In the cold days of December

When sweaters plans unravel.

~Darkling Plain, Sept. 12, 2006

Black Water

Black water rain on the mountain top

Runs to the valley below,

All my friends moved away from here

Some fifteen years ago.

And the fog that hangs in the valley

Reminds me of why they left,

No future here outside of coal

Even that work's hard to get.

That musty smell I know so well

Lingers in the air year 'round,

Where local bars and racing cars

Are the only games in town.

And nothing for sale here sells at all

The homes rot from within,

While every kid gets a car at sixteen

Hides the poverty of one's kin.

Once these towns were a millionaire's dream

Now a minor's nightmare it's true.

The sediment from the mine is thick

And sticks to you like glue.

Most grew roots in distant lands

Made doctors of themselves,

Lawyers, cops and businessmen -

They say they're from somewhere else.

But some like me, we're fated to stay

And try to carry on -

It's all I know so I chose to sew

My seeds in this one-horse town.

~Darkling Plain, Sept. 12, 2006

Air Conditioning

Some like a cool seventy-two

Year-round

The windows closed

The shades drawn down.

I like a windy day

Shutters open wide

Sharp autumn air

My brain's poppin' inside

I'm able to think again.

When things run through a filter

They get a little sterile,

Sometimes I need the grit -

A taste of the feral

So I can breath a little.

And there are those

Who can't take the heat

They rush from their houses

In a hasty retreat

To a car full of solitude -

Music sanctioned by the fandom

I like the windows down

My player set to random,

A little dirt in my gut -

And some scratch in my soul

Reminding me to live a little.

~Darkling Plain, Sept. 10, 2006

Full Moon Chronicle I

Under full moon with a clouded shroud,

Time to disengage from the here and now -

Divine solitude of mine.

Nobody pays me notice out here, as I like it,

Trying to run the yellow lights,

Careful of the blue-

But the red lights coming on too fast,

Bitter disappointment.

Alas, my foot likes to hit the gas

On the chorus of Brownsville Girl.

In tune with the moon Im gonna drive

A couple hours straight through tonight;

I deserve it, but my gas gauge says otherwise.

Damning my car and the gas pump to hell,

Cycling down with a tired eye

Well deserved from a brisk nights drive,

In the parking lot with a ripped wing,

No one hears me sing,

Turning off the engine

For my octane intervention.

A trip inside is whats required.

A tired attendant points to the back,

And amid a dirty bathrooms tack

And the condom machine -

Fruit flavored things,

And rust stain rings,

The cracked mirror brings

A glimpse of the girl

Come back to life.

~Darkling Plain, Sept. 6, 2006

Full Moon Chronicle II

Here in this green four-seater amongst us,

Fourteen and sixteen and eighteen betwixt you,

All friends good and true

Lost in the bloom of your years -

Let me say here,

I took stock of you each

And was rather selective,

Of close relations protective,

By design or inclination,

Bid limited invitation to my inner sanctum

And all at one time or another road shotgun.

Letting you into my world,

Perhaps theres something to be said

For that widows peak on my forehead -

And how I came to consider myself cursed

As you each died road deaths in turn,

Yet I still have a ravenous yearning

To drive -

Perhaps Im purging the guilt inside

On some subconscious level

To make us all equal,

Driving for those who cannot

To feel normal

Still,

Shall we let the engine cool for a while?

I still have many a mile to drive, but

Ill catch you all up on details of a life

I tried so hard to rectify,

In your memory

I'd say the engines still running,

And the wheels are still turning,

And two-ninety five a gallons still burning,

But I feel the age denied you

Creeping,

Up on me in a rolling stop

No sleeping,

At the same time the time-cops are hot on my tail -

And I try very hard to not leave a trail,

But Im running out of gas and Im running out of oil

And Im starting to feel the dead weight of years toil

And the Reaper, like some two-cent pig behind a blind

With a radar-gun clocking me over the line -

Ah,

But what am I saying?

Youre just ghosts in my head,

That full-moon again must be driving me mad -

But if theres a chance you exist on this side,

You all just sit tight and enjoy the ride.

~Darkling Plain, Sept. 6, 2006

The Bullpen

Low and inside

My joints creak,

Muscles ache,

As I follow through.

The batter hits a line drive

Almost taking my head off.

I feel my era creeping up

It's not enough -

I'm losing my nerve.

My fastball's gone,

I can't bring the heat.

He got it on the sweet spot -

A hundred and one pitches in my head,

I just can't send 'em to my fingers... dead.

When you're over the hill

A broad range will

Keep you from the bench.

If I cry foul now, I'll drown -

Better work on that submarine pitch.

~Darkling Plain, Sept. 6, 2006

A Modern Stoic Looks at Death (or Untitled)

A Modern Stoic Looks at Death (or Untitled)

The girl's not afraid like she used to be

Of things that lie 'yond the pale

Sailing full mast the seasons are passed

With a stout gust of wind in the sails

And beneath a treed canopy green, today

A summertime girl in-between

Pulled over and let a procession go by

Contemplating just what it means

There once was a time people stopped on a dime

And watched as the mourners rolled past

Now in our hurry to live we are not wont to give

Introspection of life in it's last

Not long between the springtime green and

Wintertime snow that is fallen

It's not a big gap from the die being cast

To the vessel finally broken

We sterilize grief - oh what a relief

Only five stages passed then you're done

No wake in the home, no skin off the bone

No grace that is hard fought and won

Hospital to grave, clean as a shave

All your earthly worries to keep

No death throes at last, no pain as you pass

No watching the grim reaper reap

A moment's reflections and brief introspection

Not too heavy a burden to bear

'Cause there's no way around it

Leave the world as you found it

And live with nary a care.

~Darkling Plain, Sept. 5, 2006

Words

Sacred whispers in my ear

Defining bits of my

Paper soul

To tear off and hand out

To the masses

Flyers of my well-worn life

Jutting out from the

Wipers of the

Hummers

And the hybrids

And the rusty old hatchbacks

That travel crooked roads

Without signs or directions

Useless bits of heart-felt jargon

Carelessly tossed

Across the parking lot

Sailing on the wind

To land in a dirty corner

With the other waste of the world

Perhaps a weary driver

Who fell asleep at the dash

Will take it

If for nothing else than to

Cast it in the trash

And reading it

Will find some solace

Its not GPS

But its a start.

~Darkling Plain, Sept. 5, 2006

The Universal Solvent

You tried to hold me yesterday,

I slipped through your fingers.

Didn't will it that way

Really,

I spilled down your leg and

Pooled in a corner.

You caught my eyes;

The rest of me seeped

Into the floor and

Warped it.

That's what I do, you know:

Take what is strong and

Make it weak,

Gather myself again and

Flow on

Down.

~Darkling Plain, Sept. 5, 2006

Four Generations

Four Generations

The first girl in four generations

To bear the name of her father,

On a crisp fall day

When the perfume of decaying leaves and woodstove fires

And sweet smells of vented clothing dryers

Crowned her head like wisps of ancient magic fire,

Caught her reflection in the glass

And saw a woman on the shore

A thousand miles away or more

And a hundred and fifty years too gone.

With deep black eyes she looked upon her kin,

The ivory skin and red hair, the mark of her tribe,

Her name lost to memory and time.

The modern world bends to

The beauty of pretence.

A façade of genteel social grace,

Shaking hands and saving face.

Perhaps it was so in your time and place,

But I know you.

You are strong and unrepentant

Mind of quiet introspection

Heart of fierce determination

Soul forged strong of lifes cold hammer

Breaking neither for this worlds pain nor promises.

Lost in her time, more audacious and sublime

Than permitted in this age.

In another four generations

My dark-eyed one will watch with silent fascination

As my reflection meets her own

And in that time, as I know you, so will she know me.

~Darkling Plain, Sept. 5, 2006

Contagion - The Pink Eye Blues

My hand is

Where he slipped in

And to my eye

He journeyed merrily

And upon reaching his

Warm, wet refuge

Crept into a dark recess

To bide his time.

There he sat

Growing content and fat

Mocking me for days,

A sticky, seeping puss

The only tribute

To his host.

But I will not touch him!

I will not disturb him!

Let my defenders come

To fight the good fight

I will be alright.

Smugly will I go on living

As he lay drying and dying

In the crusty corner of my eye.

~Darkling Plain, Sept. 1, 2006

True

True

Driving in the night

To my left and right

Cars are slowing

I've no fear of the knowing

I keep going

I'm just getting started

Jagged cracks of lightening

From every direction

Of every dimension

Strip my mortal skin

Revealing the essence within

Potent

Alive

Dark clouds on the horizon

And the remains of the day

Flank the black like

Buttresses of an ancient cathedral

And there,

The temple door

My foot hits the floor

Transcendence on the other side

The spirit door opened wide

The ephemeral in me falls away

The greatest part spilling free

Liquid essence

In the space of possibility

Touching every surface

Filling every crevice

Expanding to infinity

Veil

Veil of consciousness ascending

Black veil of my death descending,

Bends my mind to recognizing

Omen to my kin in passing.

There!

Over the door,

Its edge skims the floor!

Strangely delicate,

Soft and flowing,

Ever knowing,

Fear growing,

Mourning veil,

Sign of crossing.

I turn to the window,

Moon glow,

Sorrowful,

Illuminates the room.

I turn back.

The veil is gone.

It wont be long.

~Darkling Plain, Sept. 1, 2006

Pages

Saturday, August 4, 2012