Keith W Fletcher
July 28 2016


In spirit I'm  the Dark Horse
Fading into shadows of doubts
Optimism rides upon my back
Yet it's not enough to turn me
From those obscure routes
Where I too often find my solace
In the echoes of my silent world
As I run from my own hoofbeats
That I have been chasing
  None hears  the distant thud
From far below those lofty heights
Where I so often find
Myself  being hurled

In absence I'm an empty space
Where once a possibility had existed
Like those gentle summer winds
That moves along  unnoticed
Until dust or debris swirls around Acknowledging the air
That in my passing through...
... has just been twisted

In memory I am a faded color
Where no reference of what was... .....allows comparison
So no photograph
Or artistic rendering
Can ever capture the true identity...
....Of a shadow lost in shadow
Once the fading out has begun

In legacy I left a trail
Well worn and beaten wide
As I never took
The straight and narrow
I've always  preferred...
... to move from side to side

So  please...do not illuminate
The beloved shadows zones
Along the trail
For  these are the places to take more time
Feeling the presence of all the ghosts
Those reminders of my dead dreams
I've left along there
To haunt me
Reminders of those times I fail

But that cliff edge
Where I  so often  hurled myself
To crash below
In muted
And too often painful
Solitaire Evolutions

That step off spot
Where my tracks end
That is mine and mine alone
Just as is ...
That Hallowed Ground...
... where  I land
And where I lay... until I stand
To dust myself off.. or weep
So should I choose to curse my soul
I want no one else around

it consumes you, like endless
darkness, pulling you in against
your will. it's holding you there,
listening to your terrified breathing
waiting for you to snap.

you can't escape without a fight
your entire life is based upon
this fight and how hard you try
to survive, but even when you're
winning, it'll only take a moment
to lose.

it doesn't wait for a certain age, either
it will take you regardless of whether
you're older or young or in your twenties
because what does it matter? a person
is just a person in the end.

nobody else can see you struggle
and part of it is to be afraid of asking
for help because people will look at
you strangely, and they will make
you feel worse

how will you survive in the face
of death?

The crescent moon be my perch.
        A bough from which I extend my arm.
Careful fingers grasp my brush...
And with it I shall fill the void
with the universe.                

               The crescent moon be my hammock.
Upon which I lean fully into,
to seek restful recluse.                
Should my body start to buckle...
        From the heavy hopes of wistful eyes.

   The crescent moon be my anchor.
From which I draw                
my inspiration and strength.
                   She would cradle and sway me gentle...
      When wilting hearts spill unto me
the callous wiles of the world.    

The crescent moon be my well.        
A fount through which my palette        
remains full with an                                 
abundant array of silvery white.        

Just so...                                 
I could conjure for others,
       what their hearts so desire.

Just so...                      
I could grant them       
             needed solace and tranquillity.

Just so...                 
                          I could infinitely paint for them
the stars...