All Works · Poetry

To The Folds

There is no peace for you here,

It’s in the silky soft folds of darkness,

At the end the taut rope

Where darkness dissolves light.

 

It is not surprising,

All you wore was black,

All you spoke was heavy.

And with each thought you were climbing the chair.

 

At least you were honest from the start,

You can’t say the same for the rest us.

We’d like to think that somehow what we do is different.

How can it be when the result is the same?

2 thoughts on “To The Folds

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