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Noir

by V. Blake

Sit now, front row, real slow–
Stagger slightly to arrest
Clouds and stars entwine below–
A moment wrongly blessed
Darkness kisses mountaintops
The sun empties of her grace
The swaying of the forest stops
As I enter black embrace.

All that keeps me now is cold
And the silence in between
Echoes of the new and old
Definition of machine
Retained in rust and flames and flood
And their bludgeoning contrast:
Answers writ on walls in blood
Gone black in ages passed.

But on which side of that blurred line
Do I find myself a whole?
Do flesh and bone justly align
A body with a soul?
Or is there more to life than death
Or more than death to life?
How bittersweet my final breath!
How black the causal knife!

And when or if the dawn decides
To save me from tonight
It will shine on war and genocides
With its redeeming light
The irony, alone, you see
Ought dissect me like a blade
And if it does, what will there be
But red to black cascade?

Will I find apathy or ignorance
Or something even worse?
These can’t be claimed in self defense
As they’re gods of the reverse
I exclude myself as best I can
Though with weapons, just as well
And if this is the fall of man
This black will be his hell.

07/01/2009

Posted on 07/01/2009
Copyright © 2024 V. Blake

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Alison McKenzie on 07/05/09 at 07:53 PM

I don't know why, but the idea of a moment being "wrongly blessed" intrigues me. I, personally, don't think that flesh and bone necessarily properly align a body with a soul. I'm supposed to have the body of a dancer. Cheated, I tell you! That third stanza is rather genius, if you ask me.

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