Shadows in the Foreground

Just a piece written while in a bit of a foul mood. Needed to get out my anxiety and my frustration, and this is what came out. =P

Dissipating, never gone, but somehow fading all the same,
Changing, folding, cutting, hiding, slice the tendons--bound to maim.
Shadows creeping through the darkness, walk down sweet memory lane,
Feel the poison dripping steady, drink it down, no time for games.

Speeding, trickling in between, the hour glass sees many stones,
They tumble, fumble, trip, and stumble, always moving, never home.
Always falling, never stopping, never here nor there, they roam,
They tell you when your time has come and when the walls are crumbled loam.

The shadow watches, licks it's chops and preys upon the maiden's mind,
She hears the whispers, follows closely, as the promises unwind.
They crack the fragile fabric of the simple treasures found in kind,
And dash the hopes of heroes who would run through fire, come out blind.

Welcome to the roiling, churning, darkness from which I reside,
The shadow stole the Midas Hand, I felt the pain, I surely died.
The room is empty, nothing left, just one last precious note--I lied,
Said I was fine, I needed time, and faded to the grasping tide.

These shadows are a tricky bunch, they sneak and cut and burrow deep,
They change a man, alter plans, and wedge a knife through, while he sleeps.
Leave him there to bleed out slowly, wonder if she'll always keep,
Those shadows closely to her bosom, feed them tender from her teat.

A lasting darkness ever coating, killing, snuffing out the love,
Found between the perfect people, meant to be, fits like a glove.
But meant to be, or not, the problems press upon from high above,
For the brightest lights can still be shattered by the smallest little shove.

Welcome now, again, I tell you, to the twisted realm of pain,
The world of doubt and question, where not the smallest hopes remain.
A world I built, and keep, and fix, and am certain to always maintain,
For this silhouette clings on tightly--a shirt soaked through by morning rain.
It all comes down to one decision, the only words that can remain,
They will break our backs or free the shackles that weigh upon your tired brain.

Reviews

Even in those moods my friend, you are still writing brilliant, there isn't one I read from you which isn't.

Sorry it took me a while to review, but I am around now... I like the rhythm and alliteration of this one, it just reads so good... I do just admire every word, you came up with, (so much to learn for me here). You conveyed the hate, and hurt too well, never stop writing, even not in these darker times.

- Elisa

[jacob erin-cilberto]

sometimes that glove doesn't fit us, especially when our hands and hearts are swelled with the pain of loss, anger, tired brains...you travel deep into the darkness in this one...
into that twisted realm, as you called it.

i felt the pain and anger of the speaker here...

well done.

[Joshua W. Harris]

Thank you very much, Jacob! I always appreciate you stopping by to read and review my poetry! ^__^read moreThank you very much, Jacob! I always appreciate you stopping by to read and review my poetry! ^__^
I was definitely not in a good place when I wrote this one, but it most certainly helped to get those angers and frustrations out and onto the page. =]