poetry

Beg for the Light

Hollow night. Where the ear is dead, and electric eyes won’t sleep. The reverberations. Pound. Screech. Across the street. His evening power saw tearing up that pretty ranch home. But I can’t see what’s happening out there.

Fingers buzz, and ache. Stiff under a flannel blanket. Protected from the harsh black breeze, and suffocated bearing the expectation of stillness. Because you’re supposed to stay still, what can you really do, in the dark.

Where the nothing lights up, the spirits of the forgotten. Or of the repressed. Demons scratching the insides of a resting brain, so you cannot rest. Sparking and stabbing. So you have to think about the minutes that were savagely buried. Enlightened. At 3 am.

Behold, the man. The woman. There is no escape here in the darkness. Illusions of grandeur sparkle in the sunshine. Absence won’t claim answer nor justice, since here your watchful sight can’t be fooled. You fool. You see.

Precious treasure. Darkened shadows. Paralyzed and mute. Unhearing unknowing unable. Gold and diamonds, disguised in ashes. Crusted rusted necklace passed from each insatiable generation. Collar and chain. Midnight prison. Where you inherit the nothing, which is the beginning, of everything.

Behold. The man. His hollow hand. His silent night. Space between the blood and the bone. The mother and child. The filth and breath. 

The empty

The slain

Beautiful magnificent darkness

Strips and scourges

So you beg for the Light

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