The Decent

a poem for the darkness

the altar seems a sham
i want to tear it down
and swipe everything from its pretty perfect place

nothing makes sense in any way that's comforting
symbolism overtaking meaning
searching blind for raw and real

its prickling
the darkness
making caverns of my eyes

not knowing is a curse
i asked for in my downward climb

the rub of this soul polishing
a friction undefined
agitation in my mind

comparing and longing
on surround sound
so damn loud i don't know how to listen
to that call from underground

so i get down
way down
down low
to let it go

and i slither my way in
all the way in

my only illumination
trusting the wholeness of what is