Slam Saturdays: Untitled 11/22/04

Reliable, like the north wind

Because that is all she knew.

Time was hell.

I dream some nights

of the old house

and the open fields

and the frosty stillness.

But I cannot go back there.

The shadows

and lights

haunt me.

Sadness and tears well up in my chest

and remain.

Expression is useless

for nothing is solved.

We tip through life

hoping to be unnoticed

when the shadows consume us,

we wonder why

we weren’t saved.

Four thousand years is too long.

All we asked for was a life undimmed

days worth getting up for.

Instead we have

in our crumbling hands

a blur of ages

My eyes are white

my hair is silver

but my feet have not found the west.

I am not afraid of the dark.

The dark cannot hurt me.

But the dark is a vector

They strike

quickly

Through the velvet.

 

2 Comments

  1. I love this, it has a old age reflective feel. It touched me as very few poems can anymore. Brava!!

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