Of all the real wide world and her cruelty.
Where I brush fingers, ash will ever stain,
A dusting of my grey sky memory
And the life I gladly tripped, doused and burned
With no regard for what the cost might be.
How light has left. How this dungeon comforts.
How the air and the earth terrify me.
Less a man that a foul thing nocturnal,
Preying on the dancing motes it might see
Falling, rising, colliding together
In soft chaos and silent mockery.
"A dusting of my grey sky memory
ReplyDeleteAnd the life I gladly tripped, doused and burned
With no regard for what the cost might be." very nice LumberJack!
I like the dusting of grey sky memory, and burning of the life ~
ReplyDeleteNice to meet you at D'verse ~
Really enjoyed this well thought out little piece, thanks
ReplyDeletePowerful writing - I love the last four lines
ReplyDeleteLess a man that a foul thing nocturnal,
Preying on the dancing motes it might see
Falling, rising, colliding together
In soft chaos and silent mockery.
And the life I gladly tripped, doused and burned
ReplyDeleteWith no regard for what the cost might be.
intense read - how little hope is left, that a dungeon comforts!
This is indeed very intense, its source of pain and terror undefined, but perhaps all the richer for that. The words etch a very terrible picture of some unexplained pain,mwhich Inthink resonates with many for its suggestiveness of pains we might feel ourselves, whatever might be their cause.
ReplyDeleteEven from the beginning you really captured the paralyzing weight of fear. I also was struck by the way you expressed comfort in darkness, which one does experience when sadness reoccurs. Even the dark can become a strange companion.
ReplyDelete