Saturday, January 14, 2012

Into the Dark

He walks a barren ground
somewhere along the valley
of grief, some tenebrous place
past the jagged plateaus of fear,
towards the inky thresholds
of the unforgiving night.

He walks a broken dreamscape:
in the pale, fading moonlight
piercing cries of carrion wings
circle in the cutting light,
silhouettes of shattered trees
slash the cold, shifting path.

He walks, cracked leather
straining in the dirt, the cold
wind toying with his frayed tie,
whistling through the tears
in his ragged jacket; chills
with every laborious step.

He walks, murky mountains
mock his transient shadows,
the paths on his weary face
etched by dripping lashes,
each cavern on his brow
a storehouse of darkness.

He walks the fury of lives,
crashing along the swelling
tributaries of pain, rushing in
free-fall through heavy clouds
leaking despair, each tear
burning, glinting in the storm.

He walks the dimming tempest
as it breathes its final thunder,
consumed by the irresistible dark
of the night; he walks to his doom
as shadows merge into the dark
of despair, as the stars perish.

Darkness falls.

Shared at WWP #90. More poems.


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  2. he who walks the darkness so comfortably is intriguing...