Darkest of Nights

[b]
In silent darkness the thoughts they came
The light that once shone is fadeing away
These thoughts they come and play within
These dreams that have gone so astray

Once where light was ever so bright
Now it only leads to darkest of nights
This place so dark ,filled with screams of dread
A place that even angles fear to tread

This light has seen the darkest of nights
It shines yet is o so far out of sight
Eyes strain to see ,but sight is in vain
Darkness holds all that lies within

Silently ,quietly calm comes with the light
Light in the darkness in this endless night
Thoughts and dreams come , clear as day
Bright as light ,but slowly fade away

In the darkness the silence stays
The Screams fade somewhere far away

On this ,the darkest of all days


Eric

Wow, Prairie Dog! I am impressed and a little concerned about you.

Uno, you did notice his Avatar, didn't you?

Yes. I think he has taken his recent dietary choices too far.

In a bit of a strange way It's a poem about a dear childhood friend who found himself in the Darkness one day and although he had been full of life ,he died on a farmers field of a drug overdose ,all by himself
I still think of him every now and then ,what a waste of a life !

Praire Dog, I have been thinking about your poem for some time now. I think it was bold and brave. Risk taking, in showing an emotional event from your past.

I will place my poem in your thread, not because I have something similar to share, but you inspired me. I think we here on this site work hard wiht our hands and backs, toil, do practical and difficult things. But there is a soft and soulful side to all of us. Some of us take photos, some of us ride our horses through beautiful wonders of creation, some of us hike and some of us write. Soul cannot be pressed into a shape or pushed into a form. Like wearing waters that smooth the stone, our lives will be shaped by our souls, even as we don't know it.


Value Village is my place of prayer,
for the souls of those who are not there.
Whose spirits drift like faded strings
from aisle to aisle amidst the things.

Who wore these jeans with weathered knee?
Who wore these shoes, look new to me.
This wedding gown with dusty hem,
Do they still love? I think of them.

A crackled tea pot washed to fade.
How many pots of tea were made
to comfort sad or weary friends?
In Value Village its story ends.

I see the handmade goods displayed
and for the maker I feel dismayed.
I see a sweater knit with care
old woman's loving hand work there.
Do those hands still knit today
or has the maker gone away?
I grab the heft of woolen knit,
a fleeting pulse still beats in it
an aged angel wings away
but sweater on the hanger stays.

Through silken scarves I sift along.
Cheap, can have one for a song.
Did love sick boy with gift wrapped box
present to girl with raven locks
this blood red wrap of lightest weave?
Did she swear to never leave?
What happened between now and then
that Value Village is its end?

I bring home goods and wonder who
held this thing when it was new?
They kept it long, they kept it brief,
a life of joy, a life of grief?
As things I touch speak to me
a silent story is set free.
I know not one, but I do care
for unknown soul I give a prayer
I cannot say the why or how
but living or dead, God bless you now.

I like It ! I do admit to leaning towards the DARK side as my wife tells me ,but then again there is a lot of darkness out there and I prefer to be there .My friend dieing is a long story that started harmlessly enough ,but ended up with him paying theprice for someone else's greed / self .I realize that might sound a bit off for most people but It helps build humility and understanding in a way that you truly feel and for me it's well worth the tears that are shed in the process ......and yes I do cry ! Poetry is more then just mindless ramblings ,it's a emotional state that inspires the best and I don't think I am anywhere close to being there ,but maybe on the right path ? Sometimes the words they come and I race to put it on paper or in a file on line and the thoughts disappear ? so it is fleeting at the best of times .............but great job Uno ,I totally understood all of it !

Prairie Dog, I so understand your process! Writing as form of therapy. Poetry as a way to record and make sense of things that seem senseless.

I too have had those rush of words that come unbidden and you're scrambling to get them down because they are important. Maybe not to anyone else, but to you, to what your heart and mind needs at that moment.

I have written poetry on and off my whole life. When I was a teen, struggling with that ugly bit of life, I wrote poetry that when I read it years later, oh my Gordon, I was so ashamed! What a pathetic wanker I was to write this self pitying, blubbery, poor-me garbage. Oh dear, I was such a victim (NOT!) of a terrible terrible life (NOT!). I remember standing infront of the furnace one day, reading these poems and then hucking each one into the flames. All I can say is thank Gordon this crap was recorded on paper, and not FaceBook, where most of our teens do ther embarrassing drivel these days. Where it will haunt them, FOREVER!

Most of my wiriting is for myself, not for public consumption. But now and then I enjoy putting a piece out there for public perusal. Takes a certain amount of bravery...it's risky to be that vulnerable.

Write on Praire Dog, if dark is where you need to be then be there. Thanks for the inspiration!