Without Light

Allison Grayhurst


Without Light


    In naked bitterness

all strangled dreams lie

like wings ripped from

an angel’s shoulder, icy,

slim as a sword.

    The floor is

hideous that binds us to

reality, to the leopard and

the scorpion, unto the

barren future.

    Each bedmate is

sick with isolation,

reaching across the insipid night

to coin his wounds and lie for

once, unalone.

    God is lost in the morass of hurt,

and each oracle is a trick

that consoles for a minute

then purges the heart of hope.

    Delight comes

with food, with the purchase of a passion

from the local convenience store.

    Our thirst is a dreadful ooze,

like lust, it kills though itself never dies.

    We cling to the scorching seed,

pray for grace through a tired eye.

    The Irish clover droops,

and from the quiet fields, soldiers carry

fragments of…

View original post 186 more words

Categories: Featured

Reply At Your Own Risk. Leave The Dumbfuckery At The Door.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s