Darkness
Slowly bleeds into the light
As a stain
Of India ink
Sunset,
But a memory or myth
Sleep will come
If you believe
You are
Truly safe from my death grip
Is it faith
In the unseen
I laugh,
Night is where the terror lives
Can you see
In my dark light
I do,
what I see is fear in you
Dancing in
A starless sky
Close them,
think that I am not with you
Let your sleep
Carry you on
The fright
Will degress from you in bed
So you think,
I live in dreams
Comments
Ian,
I have fixed the problem with run away fingers old buddy, thank you!
Eddie
The last line in the first stanza...
... is five syllables. I usually count poetic feet, so I'm not the one to ask. I have to disagree with Ian. I write my first drafts with a dip pen and I'm looking at my bottle of ink now. It calls itself "India Ink".
As for the poem, this thing is bloody creepy. I'm going to have to go read some other stuff so I can go to bed safely tonight.
Just plain spooky somehow.
wesley
wesley
thank you for clarifing to Ian, I love good conversation on a poem. perception is everything don't you think?
Eddie
Please.
it is all in the language we speak.
No problem.
Eddie
good to see you
yes, an economically written powerfully evocative piece.
Two probs for me-
dark as india ink is a cliche, no way round that.
and "degress "? Even digress doesn't work very well there. I would re-think those lines.