Current mood:

discontent

red notebook poem
A Black Night
1.6.03 6:07 p.m.

I've never really liked--
This being that I am.
So much like a dead-end street,
Littered with the garbage of past generations.
So dark and forboding--
Shattered glass upon the ground.
Dim streetlights struggle to illuminate allways of the mind.
No sucssess there.
I can see you out of the corner of my eye
Far placed from where you should be.
Leave and take your good health with you.
Sickness lurks here--
Pollutes the air and makes it think.
Screams of the misunderstood echo down the street,
Strangers dart in and out of darkness.
And there you stand.
I can't tell if it's your ignorance,
Or your stubbornness,
That holds you to that spot.
You've admitted to your surroundings,
That much is clear.
Now you only hope to understand them.
It is a mistake in trying.
There's too muc here--
Perhaps too little--
For a mind like yours to grasp.
And even a heart such as yours,
Could not flood this dark world with light.
But I see you,
And you try anyway.
Many - myself - would call you a fool.
There is some greater power here,
That forces in the dark,
And turns your own power against you.
Even one so strong as you--you will fail.
But no--a sliver, silver flitting,
I see it now, a single shard,
Now becoming a ray of crystal light.
I know not from whence it came,
Only that you had some part to play.
It grows now,
Crossing the pavement,
Banishing the darkness hence from our sight.