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Head Into the Light by ~WTFA54:iconWTFA54:



It was a darkness unlike any darkness
Any darkness ever seen before,
For it was complete and in its starkness
In its starkness there was nothing more.

I was swept and drowned in colossal waves
Waves that would never crest before the shore
That lay where there was only me
Only me with nothing to wage war.

I could see naught and I could feel naught
Not even a soul within my core,
For the darkness had spread within myself
And within myself it spent my ore.

Though I was blind I heard the silence
The silence that grew to become a roar,
Which would take my body away from me
And from me would grow to spread and soar.

I knew nothing then and it knew me
Knew me more than I had known before
So that I was nothing in its heart
And it was nothing I would abhor.

I saw a flicker and knew myself
Awakened by some force of yore
That bade me head into the light
So that I may not suffer anymore.

But the light was blinding; the contrast too stark
So I turned and sought refuge in the dark.
©2009 ~WTFA54
:iconwtfa54:

Author's Comments

inspired by the flash game Closure.

Comments


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:iconnerissa-april:
It sorta reminds me of 'The Raven' by Edgar Allan Poe.

Just the rhythm and some of the rhyming.

I like this.

--
Student/poet/waitress/artist/photographer

^as you can see, I'm a bit of a slashie^
:iconwtfa54:
thanks! Poe's one of my favorite writers, so comparing me to him is a wonderful compliment indeed.

--
All of the true things I am about to tell you are shameless lies.
-Bokonon

My poetry tends to sound like inappropriately long and personal hallmark cards except without the sense of occasion.

My prose is shallow and pedantic.
:iconnerissa-april:
You're quite welcome.

I love him too.

I really do like your work.

--
Student/poet/waitress/artist/photographer

^as you can see, I'm a bit of a slashie^
:iconwtfa54:
:blush:

--
All of the true things I am about to tell you are shameless lies.
-Bokonon

My poetry tends to sound like inappropriately long and personal hallmark cards except without the sense of occasion.

My prose is shallow and pedantic.

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May 28
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