Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Visitors, a poem


Megrim and Melancholia,
siblings of the dark,
visit on the waning wind,
the sun a fading spark
in the ashes of the sky,
heaven's sullen arc.
Clouds lie close on my horizons;
despair is standing stark.

Drum of heartbeats in my head,
crashing, clanging gong;
light moves in a grotesque dance,
every rhythm wrong.
My guests crouch close on either side,
howl a hollow song
of loss and wordless yearning,
the yammer of the throng.

Curtains drawn about the world,
close around my pain;
forgotten wrong I can't atone,
loss I must regain.
Only imps and demons answer
prayers I whisper in vain;
brother and sister of the dark
come on winds that wane.

Stephen Brooke ©2012

I'm typically not quite so literal in my stuff but this poem seemed to call for it. Not that it's a particularly good piece, at least as it stands -- it's first draft-ish so revision is likely.

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