Colourful Darkness
by Tom
Colourful Darkness
Rage… raging… raven… hoard…
Shallow… water… dirty… falls…
Dark… lurking… taller… smaller…
After… ever… forever… never…
Going down now…
We can’t see…
And it’s not so good now…
So how are we today?
Deeper sleeper… grim reaper…
Sowing seeds… dark breeds…
Under skin… lies within…
Spirit of dark… under my heart…
Always in thought… joining all dots…
Staring space… living face…
Laughter in darkness,
Living through hardness,
Confusion and sadness,
Sleeping with clenched fists,
Forever dreaming,
In a world of black seams,
And the systemic noises,
Shaking in between,
Redness… of shining blood…
Mixed with… piles of mud…
Dark lands… with light skies…
Heavy clouds… over wondering eyes…
Silhouette of the world… God’s pet…
An empty feeling in a body… unfeeling…
System rules,
Demanding voices,
Always claiming,
That we have choices,
Really they know,
That it’s what we want to believe,
But they have a nasty trick,
Up their sleeve,
Lies and corruption run through the system pipes,
Reminding us, of the truth, of real life,
But some are clever, natural rebels,
Under their skin live crafty wee devils,
They can understand how it works,
And use their weakness to rebel,
And through it all,
They can still smell,
The invisible dead,
And the sewage in the well,
They fight for the freedom,
That some may live free,
That they may have choices,
To be as they choose to be,
To be themselves,
In their darkness they make colourful spells,
Through night they make plans,
When they are not on demand,
For the mischief of tomorrow,
The tricks and trials of tomorrow,
To balance the hurt of the past,
For every new disaster must be paid back in full,
Making us heartless but by no means a fool,
And constant, our minds stay fixed,
With music drumming onwards and our eyes eclipsed,
For our voiceless voices can speak now once more,
To send crashing waves right into the shore,
In our colourful darkness we create our own world,
And when one wants peace on the ground, then nothing makes a sound,
The calmness, unlike music, but a release of pressure,
Our eyelids feel stronger in this bright weather,
We can feel our own psychic, running through our veins,
Telling us what to do, when no one is named,
We can live in the cold darkness, in the empty streets,
Running through darkness on our swift feet,
We can feel the resistance of the ones who don’t sleep,
Making mechanical actions to the thunderous beat,
We wander, blind, in the scorching heat,
But somehow we are guided, on our plundering feet,
To reach the cool water, the treasure of the sea,
Refined in the mountains, under roots of great trees,
We feel habits growing, and don’t feel so free,
So we decide to stop, because we still want to see,
Our minds move on, into the next phase,
Leaving only memories, stored by the keys.