Black, Dark, Lonely and ColdA Poem by wLoneliness is a disease.Sitting on a rusted iron frame bench, the wooden slats sagging with age, I look around me and take it in. My deteriorating seat is resting on a decaying pier, overlooking an expanse of black water that goes on for as far as the eye can see. There is no shore in sight on any side and behind me, where the foundation should be, I find that I am floating on this motionless lake, slowly going nowhere. I rise from my decomposing perch and I listen to the sound of silence, or the absence of sound that seems to fill the thick air that threatens to choke me. The oppressive darkness surrounds me, closing in on me. I look to the sky to see the stars have all burnt out and the once brilliant moon has run away to hide. Nothing to light my way. Nothing to lead me to somewhere, anywhere that is not here. I turn around and watch as my rusted refuge falls through the pier, breaking apart my makeshift raft, leaving me unbalanced and even more alone. Nothing to lean on, No one to rely on, I spread my arms wide in an attempt to maintain my position, trying not to fall into the dark and lonely water. No one around to hear my scream that produces no sound, I wobble and tumble into the cold dark water. Forgetting to fight. If I only hand a hand I could reach for, an ear to hear my screams, a friend to help me, I would not be drowning in this cold dark water, dying alone. © 2012 wAuthor's Note
Featured Review
Reviews
|
StatsAuthorwCincinnati, OHAboutI climb inside my mind through the windows to the soul that I sold for a kiss in the fourth grade. I write about the adventures I have in my schizophrenic mind and the scars that my past has left. .. more..Writing
Related WritingPeople who liked this story also liked..
|