Heart in Darkness

In the dark, I wandered,
Past walls of stone,
some wet, others dry.
Cavern and bricked labyrinth.

Obsidian and lime.

Carefully, I stepped.
But recklessly I meandered.
For long lost, I already was.

But there, in the darkness,
after many days,
I found a heart,
Redder than red.

It was flesh.
And it was blood. 
And it was mineral.
Encrusted with living ruby.

Brilliant, even in the stygian hollow.

There, it beats. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Will and the Ape

When you're writing a story, you're supposed to know what your protagonist wants. If you don't do that, then you don't have a real character. And that strikes me as a really obvious metaphor for real life: if you don't really know what you want, then you don't have a really well-developed character. If you don't know what you want in a particular situation,  then someone else will want on your behalf,  and you will serve them.  This is a rule with few exceptions. ... It's important to get to a place where you can act according to your subjective experience–your visceral, unedited reactions; that is, your natural reactions. Most people tend to be alienated from their natural reactions, their "true will".  Natural, uncensored, candid, flowing—I have found these to be a suitable goalpost for crafting (nearly all) my reactions to social situations. However, the challenge is that human nature is ape-like, impish, infantile,
Read more

So said the ghost. 6/25/2020

The ghost is strong tonight. The spirit is awake. The world is pregnant with the dead and the unborn. A fire suddenly burns bright in my belly. I see a flame. A soul growing dry. —in this way, wise, it becomes, Heraclitus says. A voice says to let the hands motion (type) what the soul and its depths needs to express. Many unfathomed depths creak open. The ground trembles. From the fumes of Delphi come madness and vision intermixed; no different are we here. Step into the river; be swept away. You were doing no good standing there. A man learns the weight of his soul—tipping the scales this way and then that—mercurial in life, at peace only in death. What man dares speak into consciousness? Such an act brings the bright sun brought low. Perverse that man should know ! The ghost rhymes, did you know that? It’s not his fault. It’s his way, his nature and method of play. Vanity. Vanity. Vanity is one thing. But the knowledge of vanity is another. To bear the burden of knowing that one is d
Read more