Sunday, October 29, 2017

Black and White




Our eyes are the lens to life
the soul of our imagination
but... 
if our eyes told only stories
in tones of
black or white
only saw never straight lines
a distortion of reality
?
who is to tell the tale
untangling the moving wind
can you hear it whistle
moan between bare trees
as your ears betray
the chill that washes
your brain
?
so unholy dark
the black overcomes the shades
dominating all sight
eating upon the colors
fighting in the everlasting night
sleep sweet hues
sleep until the morning light
?
who goes there
when shades of gray display
movement in the wind
sounds rise from beyond
sharp scrapes running
along my grave
animal or man who goes there
?
loneliness reigns
sitting on the black throne
leaving behind nothing
night after night I wait
my eyes are dead
but my mind sees so clearly
hope upon my lips
?
I wait
an eternity is just that
a clock that ticks
longer under the dirt
much lonelier where I lie
I wait
for there is nothing left of me.

barb

 

1 comment:

  1. The spirit of the season is well captured,
    moment of finality out of reach. In hand,
    stoic imaginings, effectively censored;
    our object of affliction unable to stand.

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