there are darker places
than this,
places of the night
that call out
in silent whispers
within the soul,
too deep
for the average mind,
too far
for the typical traveler;
defeated and silent,
they lie waiting
for a return of the light
which has already
been won
forever;
in my fathers house,
everything is perfect
yet silent killers
quietly wait,
preying on the dead,
choking what little life remains
from quaking nooks
and crying crannies,
hidden deeply within;
desperation and dreams
make for big business
to the lost and unemotional,
rolling on
past the walls and barriers
of all that makes us
who we are;
she has become the light,
it fills her now,
hopefully through her
it will fill me
as well.
.
.
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