The door opens, creaks eerily
The world lurches, shudders
My mind struggles against fear
… but I enter … I fall … I cry out
Anything to grab hold of
Any certainty, any hope
… but there is none
But there is a voice, it laughs, pitilessly
Tells me “Don’t fight. Just give in.”
For I am condemned, alone I fight
Alone I fall into dark nothingness
… a child of midnight’s fears
And yes as always, damned forever
I hold back my tears.
As I fall.Endlessly.
Not knowing up or down
Will I die here tonight?
Shroud-less, no nails for coffin lids
Will I give In to this torture
This blessed crime against my hope
Or will I fight back?
I have before, but then I had strength
Now age and time weakens me
I feel frailty In my bones, In my blood
… but mostly In my soul.
I feel lost, and I think I am
… too many days, too many hurts,
Too much damned pain.
Movement ceases, my fall decreases
My pain … It eases
For I have found a certainty
A personal truth. I will find strength
It may be hidden, but never lost
I won’t give In
I will stand tall.
Copyright Stan M Rogers 2018
Think of me.
In case I go
Some dark horizon beckoning
For some days it comes closer
But my heart is always with you
Even in deaths cold mist
My memory fading
My words becoming fainter
… with my voice
My image with you but my touch no more
… upon you.
But still I will be with you
Whispering faintly my endearments to you
Echoing in corridors of your mind
Think of me in that light summer breeze
Think of me as it gently whispers in the trees
I leave you.
As today I walked, step after dusty step over this parched land
I felt the earth was burning. I am burning too
I am burning with such passion for a new future
A new world for me, unexplored, full of wonder
But I ponder as I trudge along, bare chested in the sun
The burning sun on my back, then in my eyes.
What will this new world hold for me?
I am frightened … will it be tears?
Shed so frequently over recent years.
More of the same? Will it be? Or …
Will my new world be one of happiness?
I have almost forgotten what happiness is.
But I want my new world to grant it again.
I want to waken each day with a smile on my sleep creased face
I want to kiss you awake my future lover, share smiles
Share joy, share breakfast, share laughter, share a new world.
I want to love you and spoil you, whisk you away
Make love to you, kiss you, tell you I love you each day.
… is that my new world? Is that a future?
It can be. I know it can be. With strength which I have
With a certainty which I will gain
I will forget pain. In my new world. My new world.
Copyright Stan M Rogers 2018
I love poetry that cuts into,incises even the human psyche. I suppose that is why my own seems to be shadowy dark…I try to write happy poetry and it comes out cheesy.
Perhaps writing happy stuff is hardest as the adjectives for torment and depression are so much sexier and soul touching than any other genre.
Anyway I am digressing. Perhaps my love of dark poetry started with the following piece, all I know is that is by Charles Baudelaire and how did I get to discover it?
Back in the late 1960s early 70s I was in love with a band called Mott The Hoople, this was before the days of pseudo glam crap such as Honaloochie Boogie etc. It was on the back cover of their second album called Mad Shadows and this piece of verse goes with the album so well. Atmospheric,self exploratory, examining the darker insanity of love, it has it all.
I have been searching for it for a while now and have downloaded just about every piece of Baudelaire going including the beautiful ‘Calm’…(blogged earlier) but I had no luck locating this. I kept finding mentions of it but no actual text then Duhhhhh, so obvious eh? Are you ahead of me? Yeah I downloaded the covers of that Mott The Hoople album and Eh Voila. This is it……
Descend the way that leads to hell infernal
Plunge in a deep gulf where crimes inevitable
Flagellated by a wind driven from skies eternal
Where all your torments, and for the all the ages
Mad Shadows never at the end of your desires
Shall never satisfy your furious rages
And your chastisement be born of loveless fires