Author Information
Little Girl
Folder:
Dark
Feeling like a little girl
Comforted by her cries
Every minute the big hand clicks
A little more she dies.
Fumbling around in darkness
Not knowing what to do or say
Trying to fix what’s wrong
But only gets turned away.
Swallowed up by her fears
Feeling tired and alone
The blanket that covers her now
Barely warms the bone.
Her head is pounding intensely
The beat grows harder still
Wondering if an ease will transcend
She just wants something real
July 29 2007
I think
this is a very good example of where art is the only real life possible anymore. Yearning and desire, that comes out in artistic depth means that the dangerous and difficult translations of dramatic finale is the poetry of the soul. We live with bits and bytes now, in some cases facing spiteful hazardous moments of madness. There aren't any easy computations for life although this digital world may lead some to believe that it is the case.
Contained determination is not an obvious veil for the poet. We rescue dark memories from the past pain and shine our own lamplight on those events that now glow in our words. This is the radiance, the passion generated by poetry itself.
Keep writing
Peace
Dylan
"One of the best results of life, is the torment of love"
Dylan Eliot
<3 hazardous moments in madness <3
I have more hazardous moments in madness than ever before...would it sound completely insane to call it divine misery? It seems my dark passenger writes more intensely then any other feeling besides love. Thanks for your opinion and encouragement!
**if it's an eye for an eye, then we'll all go blind.**