A Thing That is Not Black
Fear, worry, anxiety
These are the black things
That have haunted my every move
Say you ghosts are fraud?
My ghost is a true ghost
a phantom from which I daren’t run
I should love to one day
excise from my soul
the cold and clammy clenching hand
But when I offer to myself
assurance, I look over
my shoulder as I speak those words
In perfect love there is
no fear, so God tells
I would love this love if it fear relieves!
And yet! And yet when
I close my eyes I see
the same haunting again and again
So I cannot have this perfect
love, but only perfect hate
which hounds me like Cerberus at dawn
This; this dread! This fear!
this paranoid delusion!
This is the very black thing that shall haunt me until I die!
YOU ARE READING
The Collected Poetry
PoetryPoetry published May 2012- May 2013 (Written 2003-2013) Dedicated to my sister, those who followed in Viper's footsteps, and America.
