darkness

 

 

 

Beneath the humping bedclothes of another drunken Saturday night we are conceived in the dark. 

 

Born from black we gulp for our first breath and are blinded by the light. We are addicted to it. We cannot rest. The darkness must not enfold us.

 

We scurry into another neon night, searching in the windows for meaning. Scanned like a bar-code. Framed by the light. Anything to avoid the eternal darkness.

 

 

 

the dying bones

the dying bones of autumn

poke through 

a ribbed skeleton 

on the forest floor

winter is near

 as ferns enfold

the last of the sharp sunlight

and drag it beneath the leaf-strewn soil

to the waiting roots

below

it will be dark

soon