Thursday, February 14

out. // a poem

ok. so i guess it is a little sombre, and it is a morbid subject, but, hey, one day we're all going to face it. so without further ado, here is a poem i was told to write in english class, the subject was death. i'll spare you the rationale, and all though.


here is the shallow secret, here it is, 
it is numb, bathed in eternity, a wasteland of thoughts,
the drowning, the heaving
here is the heavy secret, the one that no one accepts,
grey-dressed, it is the bite after the race, it is the sleep, 
the shadow tainting life, it is the fall,
it is the musty-smell, the motivation for leaving an imprint,
the reason for beauty,
here it is,
it is the extinguishing of that brief spark of light 
slipped between two slices of forever,
the nothing. the no-future. the ultimate relief.
it makes its way through the busy,
the vain scratching of the pen, once the ink has gone,
that sinking of the heart, it is the line,
parallel, all this time.
here is the wirelike secret, shake your head at the bitter,
it is damp. it is dirt,

it is tasting the past
and breathing it out.

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