Winter's Imminence
It seems that as grim autumn's daylight grows dim and dimmer,
My days diminish to mere simulacrums of meteors
That once bore the core of my life-force,
In glorious flashes and flares of gaseous brilliance,
Toward the farthest corners of the Lord's perfect universe.
The deeper I peer, into the sky protecting my earthly purview
From demons circling, in search or lifeless prey,
The more certain I am that time has abandoned my corpse,
Left me with just the feeblest powers of discernment,
To fend off evil elements meant to permanently darken my spirit.
To say that I awaken and fall asleep in impenetrable obscurity
Is to tell but a quarter or an eighth of a half-truth
Regarding the scope of my heart's present dislocation.
In fact, the blackness of my frigid near-existence is bleak,
A stark reminder of imminent winter's spectral desolation,
Huddling, in trees, like hideous turkey buzzards —
Those bottom feeders with the red-bleeding, featherless heads —
Believing they've assumed the shapes, taken the camouflaged places,
Of brittle, brown, shriveled leaves the trees have released,
Assuming their disguise, to confuse my truth-seeking sensibilities.
Tonight, in a blind mindlessness, alone even to myself,
I'm driving home, through a forest of slowly decaying gravestones,
Weaving through sodden, worm-knotted clods of fog,
Trying, with hopeless abandon, to locate my soul,
Buried somewhere between dismal autumn and abysmal winter.
11/15/10 - (3)
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