7/6/2017 A few pieces about pain and darkness and expression; Voices in the dark, Salt and Vampire
Voices in the dark
Here are these old friends,
these stalwarts of my mind.
My stifled consciousness,
my lack of tongue,
all this 'me' trapped inside,
strapped and locked down
staring out from behind my eyes
like a rabid lunatic...
Blah, blah, blah...
I swat all these yammering voices away,
This is my piece of quiet.
I lay here in the dark,
while the rain pelts down on terracotta,
pinging musically on my chimney
and my boys and wife sleep,
as I guard them.
Thus my silence rules.
The ticking clock,
the heartbeat of my home,
my softly stabbing fingers,
each stealthily fighting to be the loudest sound
in my midnight refuge,
this cherished quiet is all mine.
There is salt,
here where your lips belong,
there, where mine long to linger.
This salt not for wounds,
nor broken bones.
This salt made of me,
made of you,
made from them...
I do not wish to see it mar your perfect skin,
yet, somehow, sometimes, it fits...
There is a time and a place
for your salt,
Paradoxically, in light of these thoughts,
betimes I have begged for it
from and for you.
This salt, my salt,
I call you, I demand you here and now,
to lay waste to my pristine cheeks,
so no smiles may ever grow here.
Salt these fields and make them barren.
I pray for it
to blight and make ashen my repentant face.
Words of power sear their way out of your heart.
A thinker are you,
slow and long,
quick as a knife between these ribs.
...not here, nor now
while my babes sleep,
nestled in each other's arms...
I banish you into the darkness,
I curse your name and your crumbling home,
though perspectives shift and twist
and, to some eyes,
it may seem like I was the one discarded...
I fade away from here,
as a wraith or apparition
into the night I merge,
my own black soul indistinguishable
from the cold, still atmosphere.
My eyes close,
my arms cross on my chest
and I fall...
into my eternal peace,
a mere flicker of blood on my lips.