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STONES
Private Notes
Private Notes
Notes
I love not the chill of night
Not in this winter
Where the spaces are too wide
And the silences too empty
I wake in that dark
Shaking for light in a false dawn
And I am filled by this life
Undone
Unmeasured
Utterly unremarkable
This is a house of winter
Where every wall sticks fast
And burns deep
I see figures accusing dim
Through breath-limned windowpanes
And fingers tracing clear
Mark a stroke for each untenable failing
'til their eyes glint
like flaked obsidian
Through the bars of my solitary cell
Alone
In a room insulated
By a million years of death
I tear skin from muscle
Searching for life
In the warmth of my own blood
I kneel on virgin knees
And no rage breaches my flesh
Only hard tears and cold
Surrender
While the gods sit mute
And politely consider
This hollow vessel
I know but one revelation
I weep for stones
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Thank you. I tend to write through my emotions (or, from them)--as shaped by various inspirations. Dreams. Poetry. Music. Imagery. I'm always seeking to convey a moment, a point in time, silence, and reflection. All that might sound a bit pretentious, and perhaps it is. In simpler terms, I write what moves me, what expresses my understanding (or misunderstanding) of being alive. Thanks for reading.