Poet’s Note: This is a ‘dark’ poem, depicting -in poetic detail- a man regretting his actions upon the moments preceding his death. If this isn’t your proverbial ‘cup of tea,’ then I perfectly understand if you don’t read it. Otherwise enjoy! FROZEN NIGHT Winter embraces the naked trees- clinging, engulfing, breathes down their limbs- fragile, splayed, heavy with icicles, dripping upon the frozen grass- darkened emerald sprinkled with crimson dew under this gray sky- half dead gutted with bright holes staring down with its thousand eyes upon my angular face: torn- the lines lifeless. No longer am I who I’m supposed to be. A filthy, caustic screen of time a smog- blinding, suffocating, separates me from you, from us. No longer the melting sun- upon this world of constant night- in warm splinters of broken sunlight does shower promises of brightness, of purification. I tried turning my back tried not to vomit these scarlet tears but amid whiter ghosts staring down from ashen heavens, my white flag disappeared- crumpled beneath their feet- and I lost. I lost to the monster I created, to the monster I became; the fire that once burned in my heart, fueling me, pushing me, now devours me, slowly, chilling, as I lie suspended over this chasm floating midair along the parallel axes of time and life somewhere between now and then between myself and my monster between alive and otherwise… by The Manoj Arora
Posted on: Wed, 30 Oct 2013 02:25:39 +0000
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