08/05/2024
here's a kind of sad poem?
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Deep midnight.
A dark pool of stars.
Dive in.
Surface to the everlasting oblivion.
Take a deep draw of negation. Lungs fill
with nothing. Beyond a body.
A fine master.
A worthy lord to serve.
A kingdom of negation
forever sliding
piece by piece
into an obsidian sea.
The scribe’s page
is a pool of splattered ink.
Ordering no chaos,
finding no patterns.
Only abstraction,
a deep chasm delving down
to the core.
Enough tired and scared.
Enough deep-set, bulging eyes.
Enough fluttering heart.
Enough perverse algorithms,
enough beautiful and terrible and dying
and enough decay.
Let me be a muse of the abyss,
composing
sounds swallowed
by
emptiness.
Let me be the fool, a jester in this empty court.
juggling the kernels of light
before they are swallowed by night.
Let me siphon the soul,
life draining into the
glimmering
oil-sea of
forever.
Let me embrace
what is eternal,
before, and after.
Let me swallow the terror like a sword and bound through this life,
Towards
The inevitable,
and ever approaching
midnight.
