Light

this is the death that light dies sometimes.

 

a liquid shadow slides methodically;

a stalking black alley cat,

eclipsing beautiful completeness

 with beautiful emptiness.

 

the feline shadow calls itself Light,

demands that all hues begin and end

in her bulbous dark eyes.

 

we all smile like alligators as she sings

her syrupy blue moon glow

into our sun baked souls;

we all cry like lust-stricken hyenas

as she glitter-bombs

the Great Divide

with gassy balls of flame and ice.

 

yet, in this somber state,

we are fireflies

dodging the fat raindrops

that fall between torture and bliss.

 

our senses react favorably to her caress,

but our souls long for the time

when true Light will return

and flood this Valley of Death

with the glorious blooms

and vibrant colors

that first formed us.

 

 

Author's Note

"Love is not consolation. It is light." Nietzsche

Reviews

[Melinda McQueen]

A great write. Love is indeed light.

[Kenneth The Poet]

Double wow.