The process.

the darkness comes as it goes

the dread however, seems intent on staying.

falling to my feet only ends up a bloody mess

theres no soft place to fall,

no solice to take.


there is only the act of hardening

and tempered steel though when cold to the touch is savagely barren

it can stil in the heat of fire take on the attributes of warmth

and melt and become somthing rather inept

though slightly beautiful.


what then is there to do but reform our selves

and invite anguish and pain and then soften and harden again

till we find the shape of our hearts in the mould of the future

we once dreamed of if we can still remember it.


and dread will be our constant companion;

our third wheel in our fortunes.

which was never handed to us in any decent form of fate,

but that in that fight of going anywhere somewhere hidden in the violent struggle

is our often ignored love beating its heart out for the tempo to temper

and both beats to trigger each other in all our love states

simply to be recognised for what they are,


Author's Notes/Comments: 

lets just stop for now and breathe my love.

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cevance's picture

A spellbinding read.

A spellbinding read.

nightlight1220's picture

This was very very nice to

This was very very nice to read.... very nice!!


...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."

"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "