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Black, Black
by
Nancy Brar
His eyes
were black,
A dark night without the twinkling stars,
In the distance of everything,
Black tunnels of lost hope,
That echoed his lonely heart,
In the listening ears of ghosts,
Transparent and invisible,
To the weeping of his soul,
And the shattering of the earth,
He stood upon, still and unwavering,
His gaze full of bitter scorn,
For lives lead in peace,
That had surrounded the noise,
Chaos, sounded in the air,
A black shiny revolver,
Pointed directly against the forehead,
Sweat lining the wrinkles,
Glistening, cold-hot shivers,
Sharp winds howled,
In his aching silence,
Battle wounds stinging,
From a place that was never called “Home”
Blood, dark and red,
Dribbling down heated flesh,
Singed and then burned innocence,
In the façade of familiar warmth,
Stabbing childhood,
With a steady hand one could call fate,
In the presence of demonic chirps,
“Fight! Fight! Fight!”
Echoed in the silent dark room,
An icy grip at the throat,
Effectively closing off words,
That weren’t said,
In sour looks,
Blazing with disgust that maligned,
Sons that were never sons,
Fear softly pacing,
At the heart of the matter,
Dead in the soft black snow,
Falling like the dead man,
Lost in the never ending pit,
Tears fell,
From the sobbing woman,
Her pale hair,
Grey and faded,
Into nothings,
Of things the boy could not understand,
But solemnly respected,
With reverence lined with malice,
Of those left undone,
Blowing away,
In cold, icy waters,
Falling forth in ripples,
That rained storms,
Of thundering sorrows,
Left barren on the frozen ice,
A knife cutting,
Deep into wounds unhealed,
Fathers fallen and defeated,
Out of tempers,
Unchecked and torn,
Into pieces of black,
The boy picked and grasped,
Gradually reaching the end,
Of a long rope,
That named itself “Man”
As everybody’s lost their minds,
Creeping insanity,
Pushing them over the ragged cliff,
Onto jagged silk cloths,
Into eyes that were,
His,
Eyes were black…
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