blog of poet, leah umansky

We are Our Greatest Villains

Could be haunted or part bathed in the cathedral-ed. There’s little left to say about it. Just the memorial: It is inhospitable; forbidden; barren and bare in the dark.  Life is dark. Sure, it’s been darker. It’s been hotter. It’s been desperate.

No one talks about the miracle. The miracle lies in the light.

Incrementally, over time, there were blank spaces, but in a world of definitions and labels; satisfaction is required.

I started high, then descended. A positive image, I crooked myself to face the dark and faced the extraordinary and faced,                                 well,          you.

In this mythology;  but, it doesn’t take religion; It doesn’t take the secular or the sacred.                                                                                                It’s all heart.

The appeal of life is in the primal.

       [Happiness is not.]

You gathered; I hunted.

There’s little left to say about it.  There’s little left to say. There’s little left. The bed-frame in the street; the strewn garbage bags; the savage.

I snicker now, for there’s little left     

to say

            with words.

© Umansky 2011  Follow @lady_bronte