DarknessA Poem by Elisa LDarkness is likely my closest friend, a woman who I’ve
always known I can trust. She has never lied to me or betrayed me, or pretended
she didn’t care. She has never regretted anything she’s done and she is always
painstakingly careful with her words. She sits there like beauty, with her long
hair soft, and she sighs like lighting with a voice like rocks. She’s gentle,
too, each touch is a caress, and I find myself often lost in the folds of her
dress- which is long and white and always too clean. Her eyes are bright and
purple, but sometimes red, and they gleam mischievously and search for my
weakness’, so that she may fortify them. Her lips are thin but pink and soft,
and when she speaks they hardly part. Everything she says Is like a whisper or
the wind, it comes out so quiet but impossible to ignore for the words that she
utters when she does, which isn’t often, are hurricanes and thunderstorms. I’ve seen the way darkness is when she isn’t with me, and I
see all the things that she can be. She is cruel and manipulative and steals
young men’s dreams. But I must say I cannot care, for she gives them to me.
Sweet dreams, they are, of water and salt. Of sand and seashells, of harbors
and docks. Of dolphins and sailboats and great humpback whales; then of
mountains and forests and long red fox tails. There are flowers like roses and
tulips and daisies, and the little white lilies in ponds on their pads- which
is where the toads sit as they croak and eye flies, but I must say even the
toads are lovely through her eyes. She gives me these dreams in the night when it’s dark, which
is they only time she comes calling. Then I wake from my sleep and we sit side
by side and talk for hours about what others would call ‘nothing.’ But it
isn’t, you see, it’s really quite a bit. It’s nightmares and demons and ghosts.
It’s terror and shame and often ill-feeling, and things that I do not trust to
any other ear. Why do I tell darkness? Well, because she will listen. She will
sit and keep her white teeth from showing. She will smile when she should and
laugh and cry too, and touch me but only if I cry. She is always there for me
and she always has been, and in darkness I have found my only comfort. For it
is her singular ways and her off-key just right phrases that let me wake up
when the sun rises in the mornings. © 2013 Elisa LAuthor's Note
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2 Reviews Added on September 4, 2013 Last Updated on September 4, 2013 Author
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