Sometimes there is the illusion of being full,
water rushing down in pools of waste and unwanted memories
crashing together at the bottom of the fall -
churning, dashing against sharp rocks.
There used to be a rainbow,
but that was when the sun shone through.
Only rain now, constant patterings from the sky.

The room's dark,
shadows that hoard the corners almost leap out
in want of the rest.
Slowly, light gives in,
unwilling, unable to continue its battle.
Weak, flickering,
it allows itself to be swallowed whole.

Passion was once the fuel for everything -
it was enough, back then, when rainbows outdid storms,
when light filled rooms and cast darkness aside.
Intensity was plenty,
but it is a fire that quickly smolders.
The forests soon burn away,
and all that is left is ashes.

04/21/2012

Posted on 04/22/2012
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