The little things (Apology to Gaia)
How sweet it is to feel again
My blade malicious sliding into flesh
To see the flicker in your eyes dismay
And life’s fresh humour fade from rose to blue
Each time my careful weapon takes your life
None see you die, nor, best of all, do you
No epitaph or granite marks your grave
No loving flame, with sorrow, sparks your Pyre
I smile, obscene with gloating, hidden now
As bleeding in your cherished dreams you tire
Another hopeful wave dashed on the crag
Once mighty breaker ebbing now in rills
You die so many times and yet are hale
And, oh, so eager, to be slaughtered still
Each glistening wound throb with remembered pain
Desire’s blood ever flowing, never pooled
To kill and not be caught is my delight
A death less crude than mere oblivion
As man I sin and watch you fade and fade
Your piecemeal massacre is my charade.
© 2005 Kahdoosch
My blade malicious sliding into flesh
To see the flicker in your eyes dismay
And life’s fresh humour fade from rose to blue
Each time my careful weapon takes your life
None see you die, nor, best of all, do you
No epitaph or granite marks your grave
No loving flame, with sorrow, sparks your Pyre
I smile, obscene with gloating, hidden now
As bleeding in your cherished dreams you tire
Another hopeful wave dashed on the crag
Once mighty breaker ebbing now in rills
You die so many times and yet are hale
And, oh, so eager, to be slaughtered still
Each glistening wound throb with remembered pain
Desire’s blood ever flowing, never pooled
To kill and not be caught is my delight
A death less crude than mere oblivion
As man I sin and watch you fade and fade
Your piecemeal massacre is my charade.
© 2005 Kahdoosch
posted by Kahdoosch at 2:18 AM
2 Comments:
Kahdoosch, tell me, how do you feel when writing dark poetry? I have tried but it just didn't work out for me. I am more of a romantic type I guess. On the quest for my soulmate. haha.
My 15 year old writes it. Her blog is on my blog called "The Dark Room 666"
I don't like her poetry but it is her. And that is ok. She can write some pretty nice things too.
How do I feel when I write dark poetry?
Like I'm living in a surreal world where the observed pays no attention to the observer.
Those things that are beyond your capacity to change. Those frustrating things that seem so obvious yet have a nack of hiding themselves in plain sight.
The things that I don't want to think about but jarre too much to ignore.
They are the things that I feel when I write about darkness.
It's an attempt to drag them out into the light, to pull their underwear down in the main street and ask them why they want to hide. What are they afraid of?
I can't ask a higher power to deal with the things that seem ridiculous to me but I can render the dark, beautiful for a time (even though it might not want to be).
Dark is a privative to light. Dark doesn't exist itself, you can't measure darkness. It can only exist in the absence of light. Opening the curtains to let the light in is another form of romanticism.
I'm trying to stand in the light and describe the dark in the hope that others might face darkness down.
I suppose that some things make me uncomfortable but I feel the need to voice my discomfort.
I admire Raine's poetry and prose, she seems to have grasped that there are two methods to spread the light. One is to take the light into the darkness, the other is to drag the darkness into the light. She has understood that dwelling in (and on) the dark doesn't help illuminate it. She's communicating, all channels open. She's finding her voice... Go, go there, Raynegirl.
I really admire your poetry too, it's astonishingly beautiful
PS. Did you read Imam's poem's on Anisa's blog? WOW awesome... Particularly the one from the backseat of the car, 'ancient dismal eyes'. Shivers up my spine with that one
Post a Comment
<< Home