Inanimate stare upon light’s fading touch,
by Robert L. Bixler III
Has replaced ignorance with heavy wisdom.
The cold, harsh emptiness in which I clutch
Is but an outer representation of inner schism.
This hollowed body is lacking under the skin
Where warmth and tender emotion should flow.
Instead, there is agéd dust, and stuffy aired sin,
Which has become the essence, such reality did sow.
As night’s only wanderer fails to accompany me,
So does the warmth of false promises of overlooking sun.
As the fallen one did, I too begin to empty
All life’s wasteful essence for the long, tiresome run
That starts from weakened heart that does yearn,
Traveling long barren fields, where in solus one will burn,
Exiting pain numbing raptures -death desire earn-
And is drunken by scorched mouth, cycle full turn.
Sleep’s restful eye watches over me
As her sister takes my empty pain,
And returns with a sweet recipe
That taste of death’s bitter sugarcane.
As the night fades to cold dark blue
My dreams and aspirations match her hue.