The Darkness

Resting amongst empty covers, from the Darkness I heard a tune, dear friend.

Hollow strings plucking over whimpers.

Noises so empty had no end.

The silent dark spoke of nothing, but the message was clear.

A secret once made hidden.

The loss of something close, something dear.

Locked inside a toy box, you kept your memory sleeping.

 

Too often had it called for a glass of milk?

 But you ignore it while you’re weeping.

Blinding silks mask your sorrow; you keep your sight to yourself.

Ignoring the temptation of the box.

All the while plucking strings beside your shelf.

I lift myself awake to calm your suffering.

But your silence in this world we live in proves too deafening.

Dry your eyes dear friend.

 Remove this tattered sorrow.

Join me in a bed of comfort.

We shall burn the box tomorrow.

-.db. 2/23/2013