Thursday 18 July 2013

My Poetry: The Light Is Not Tender

The light is not tender:
the secrets
it illuminates
are not true -
least to me -
on a day like this
when sun clones,
tanned flesh bared,
wander like zombies
through the streets.
No,
the light is not tender:
block the doorways
with wood,
for my only comfort
is the storm clouds
which gather
inside my skull;
tearing at my polar opposites
rendering the night -
my favoured companion -
bringing with it
the dark
charactors which visit
as I huddle
in my shadowed corner
awaiting the necromancer
and her trusted spider
which spits truth
like venom
into my inner ear
poisoning my ego,
untill no faith
song or prayer
can keep it from death.
No,
there is no light
in a day
devoid of tenderness.

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