To The Dark
This poem was found in my archives and I chose to republish today because I remembered writing it at the same time as “Sanity”, which I published yesterday. It struck me sharply as I read it, how quickly my mind and mood changed early on in recovery - how fast the pendulum swung between joy and pain, misery and lust for life; I thought it was fitting to clean it up and post, however I attempted to stay within the context of time as I worked on it.
To The Dark
The door swelled and shrunk,
Death came knocking.
Invite him in.
It is time.
Heard the cries,
Across the span,
Of a thousand tears,
Hundreds of years,
Through devoured,
Long empty graves.
Wait,
Says the scream,
Nails dig deep,
Into the frame,
Above the door.
Death sits,
Impatience growing,
To hear,
His jumbled,
Disjointed purpose.
Why now do you come,
Disturbing,
Vacant joy?
Temporary silence,
Weakened sanity,
Lost in every,
Taken soul.
This moment,
The storm shortly passed,
The skies lightened,
Slowly cleared.
Where were you,
When I cried,
Longing desperate,
for the final touch?
Now my life,
Finding small joy
Minimal worth therein,
Some regard.
Yet you appear before me,
Speaking,
Unspeakable things,
Within the ears,
That cannot hear,
A mind,
That cannot see.
I cannot go,
For in the time,
Your hesitation,
Has found you wandering,
I have seen the meaning,
Continuing in life,
Through the moments,
When nothing,
But the dark did live.
Beautiful moments,
Lingering softly,
Between,
your heartless
call.
All is not lost,
Though your messenger,
Brings her sorrow,
Imprisoning the heart,
Within her steely fingers,
This pain,
Drowning in the Rayn,
Have attempted,
The pills to sleep,
The opiates to die,
Our sickness,
Gave way.
In which,
I wallowed,
Filthy broken,
Separate from,
Her pointed,
Withering destiny.
No comparison made,
To joy found,
In anorexic moments,
Purging empty,
I admit,
Yet in joys admittance,
New life,
Devoid of superfluous,
Empty prayers,
The self-destructive,
Indulgent times,
Surely remembered.
You spoke your truth,
Knowing what drives you,
What finds itself unbearable,
Within me,
Within your plight.
Meaning found,
As it does in you,
Yet such things serve,
To destroy,
The here,
Sitting,
Lingering now,
Emptied of awareness,
But your need,
To follow every step,
Suffocating,
Every good,
Oppressive instinct.
Is this not proof enough,
My will and pride,
Destroyed,
Replaced by that,
Which knows all,
Fight against your time,
Tearing ragged sleeves,
Bearing bitter scars,
Razor sharp stitching,
Seeping blood,
From deep within,
Cracks of time.
Such things,
Oftendeclared,
Final moments,
As the
last,
Belabored,
Whimpered breath escapes.
To The Dark
The door swelled and shrunk,
Death came knocking.
Invite him in.
It is time.
Heard the cries,
Across the span,
Of a thousand tears,
Hundreds of years,
Through devoured,
Long empty graves.
Wait,
Says the scream,
Nails dig deep,
Into the frame,
Above the door.
Death sits,
Impatience growing,
To hear,
His jumbled,
Disjointed purpose.
Why now do you come,
Disturbing,
Vacant joy?
Temporary silence,
Weakened sanity,
Lost in every,
Taken soul.
This moment,
The storm shortly passed,
The skies lightened,
Slowly cleared.
Where were you,
When I cried,
Longing desperate,
for the final touch?
Now my life,
Finding small joy
Minimal worth therein,
Some regard.
Yet you appear before me,
Speaking,
Unspeakable things,
Within the ears,
That cannot hear,
A mind,
That cannot see.
I cannot go,
For in the time,
Your hesitation,
Has found you wandering,
I have seen the meaning,
Continuing in life,
Through the moments,
When nothing,
But the dark did live.
Beautiful moments,
Lingering softly,
Between,
your heartless
call.
All is not lost,
Though your messenger,
Brings her sorrow,
Imprisoning the heart,
Within her steely fingers,
This pain,
Drowning in the Rayn,
Have attempted,
The pills to sleep,
The opiates to die,
Our sickness,
Gave way.
In which,
I wallowed,
Filthy broken,
Separate from,
Her pointed,
Withering destiny.
No comparison made,
To joy found,
In anorexic moments,
Purging empty,
I admit,
Yet in joys admittance,
New life,
Devoid of superfluous,
Empty prayers,
The self-destructive,
Indulgent times,
Surely remembered.
You spoke your truth,
Knowing what drives you,
What finds itself unbearable,
Within me,
Within your plight.
Meaning found,
As it does in you,
Yet such things serve,
To destroy,
The here,
Sitting,
Lingering now,
Emptied of awareness,
But your need,
To follow every step,
Suffocating,
Every good,
Oppressive instinct.
Is this not proof enough,
My will and pride,
Destroyed,
Replaced by that,
Which knows all,
Fight against your time,
Tearing ragged sleeves,
Bearing bitter scars,
Razor sharp stitching,
Seeping blood,
From deep within,
Cracks of time.
Such things,
Oftendeclared,
Final moments,
As the
last,
Belabored,
Whimpered breath escapes.