For what it is worth
I see you when I climb the stairs a midst stark twilight.
Your dauntless task given unto an endless flight.
A vision of tolerance and safety.
Kindness and dignity.
A shimmering arc focused on what is here.
A dark side to what is not there.
Can you fix me?
Whiling the while…
cradling ‘of unknown origins’…above the street?
Rest assured I’ve cleaned hell.
It left me in a
‘poor me’ spell.
Days, months, years…
stuck in the glare.
Rummaging in the attic…
drunk and blind…
looking for a purpose, a meaning, maybe a sign.
Now, feral moon, as time becomes,
a whimper and a whim…
As life goes bump in the night…
as it often will.
The dark shadows, the bolted attic door, the childish folk lore’s…
beg the question, once more.
What is IT out there?
One step down from the top of the stair?
IT used to be the monsters sight unseen.
Sometimes, I know, as I do now,
IT is only in a dream.