Friday, August 20, 2010

A Blackened Room

Lightning strikes an empty sky
Piercing the darkness of you and I,
The call of the night, the shrouded light
Of an existence laid to rest
Yet rumbling, scratching at the chest.
Thunder born of discontent,
A half-faded farewell never meant -
Glass and wood, mud and mold,
A fresh-dug hole yawning bold,
Illuminated by the sudden flash
Striking open this wound, slice and slash.
This is the mood, a blackened room
Shifting with spirit, a moving tomb;
This is the storm, the rising flood,
A corpse left floating in bitter blood.

Dena L Moore
February 7, 2009