This black ink on the page
In front of me may as well be
My blood, for the words it forms
Are alive with the soul
That burns inside of me
In so many dark shades.

And while the lights above me
Illuminate this room so well,
I remain here in my darkness.

If there was light to be let in,
I am sure the window would
Grant it passage to where I sit
And see so little in so much.

For tonight I shall not see
The stars in the heavens above;
They reside in a perfect blanket
Of clouds, smothering the sky
With their shades of grey
That so well match the colours
Of my naked soul.

I suppose the streetlamps look
A little like bloated, yellow stars,
The brightness of their youth
Roughened by the years of galactic expansion
That gave them their loneliness.

But I know just how false
Their illumination really is...
It casts too many shadows
To be true and honest.

However, it is these very shadows
In which I am hiding,
Behind the rain marked glass,
Awaiting my fate
Along with the rest of the human race.

The glass keeps away the wind
And the rain, but lets me
Feel the storm brewing inside of me
As it grows louder and stronger
Until no one cannot hear or feel
The force it controls.

So, this is the warning label
I wear on my irises:
This package will self destruct.

03/17/2002

Posted on 03/17/2002
Copyright © 2024 Richard Vince