How does one see the course of a life
From a spring beginning
To dark bog seeping
pressure packing tight the weave of every moment.
Purple black light glints
oiled colours under the dank surface
heaves a rainbow slow deep undulating.
Stilled violence bruises spirit
turns its back on weeping
Tell it clear swearing in your face
the best is here growing
to fierce flame.
This truth comes hard as anthracite.
written April 2012, after writing this next poem which is the prequel I think, and not such a strong feeling
Passing on frustration
making me not me
with terrors in the self
cry not me
wherever it finds a home