Poetry

POEM SIX: Twilight Hour

Waking up screaming

From dreaming

to a black and white screen. 

Covering life, or so it seems. 

I flit like a ghost

and those that used

to care the most

are free from my scream, 

bursting free at the seam. 

Every dream just feels so real.

And the Devil cackles

As he reaps his deal. 

He watches me scramble

And dance and sing and die. 

Comes ‘round each year

To check if I still remember

The burning, flashing, reeling December; 

His demon’s perfectly casted lie. 

I’m drowning, I’m drowning, 

in all of my fears. 

And no persons 

living or dead

Can ever hear his lie. 

Because this lie was so crafted

Very carefully, you see. 

And used to trap 

the unlucky soul

Seeking love

through the screen. 

But tear apart the grains

of black and white static. 

The twilight hour

pulls close and traumatic. 

An obsession lurking 

behind every other line. 

It’s dark and deceitful, 

It’s playful, and it’s mine.