Your walls stand weak against shadows that spread,
Warping your contents beyond all meaning;
The flakes of your past feeble from leaning.
I see it amongst you; within the dead,
It makes and becomes you like pure black dread.
Your floor starts to creak like heavy lungs heaving;
The wild echoes seamlessly convening,
Till darkness fills all of where you may tread.
But I will be there and forever stay,
Fighting your shadows with all of my light;
I came for a reason to gently lay,
Rest your fear and ease your darkest of blight.
Shadows become lucent; your night to day,
I’ll give you that hope, that passion, that fight.
Tag: sonnet
The Frame
Resting against this pure white, sturdy wall,
Is a frame of glass, cheap plastic and grime;
Clinging to images of a lost time.
An inscription engraved in listless scrawl,
Of illegible letters used to haul
Back to moments that reek of the sublime,
When stood against walls that flattered its’ prime,
Unburdened by conscience, never to fall.
It frames white thoughts that may never have been,
A raging spirit that was never seen.
Dreams so often promised; never fulfilled.
Something to reach to; heavily instilled.
But amongst it all is a tiny clue,
An image within, of someone: it’s you.
A Mark
I can taste it now; teasing at the tip,
Of my tongue as I drink greedily in,
With one hungry gulp of self-serving sin.
I waited at first, for chance to unzip,
The secret you held just close to your hip.
A mark that showed me where I could begin
And lead me to a place in which you’d pin
Me to you with an unknowing firm grip.
It’s grown stronger now so don’t let it become,
A reason by which to forget how sweet,
An elixir we shared; free of jitter,
A medicine to rouse the secret numb.
I know though in time, drowning in effete,
The last sip I take, wincing; is bitter.
Luke Downing 