To the darkness we'll give our bodies
To the darkness we'll give our souls
We will all succumb to it
The only variable is to what extent
and perhaps the willingness
Of the victim or of the volunteer
It's a certain type of darkness
I speak of that never gets old

Not the kind of darkness
That hides under the light
I mean the type of darkness
That you sense beyond your sight

It's a tainted taste but its comforting
It can smell like a lack of oxygen
like nothing and everything at once
It can look like everything you've
feared or loved or all of the above
It can linger in the atmosphere
Or it can invade your every thought
Sometimes the darkness is all you've got

No matter how much we mention it
Darkness may never be understood
And we may never know it deeply
But we may know what it feels like

Down, down the rabbit hole,
Into a world marred with blandness.
It's a silly little place,
Quite very queer,
All colored grey and flavored with sadness.
The tears trickle down and turn into streams,
Subtly washing away my dreams.
Always the martyr,
I chose this fate.
Ashes to ashes, we all fall down.
Some choose with a bullet and a frown.
The petals are soft
The petals are nice
Secretly laced with cyanide.
Tricksy little place,
Quite very queer,
Down, Down the rabbit hole,
Into the world filled with blackness.

Sometimes I miss you.
I remember the times you made me as happy as I could be,
then I miss you.
I remember the drive you gave me,
the motivation,
the edge,
and then I miss you.
I remember others trying to bring you down,
and the way you quickly got up again.
Or the times you fought through
the toughest moments in your life
with courage and determination.
You were truly an inspiration,
and I miss you.
The pain that you went through,
and yet you pushed through,
without an issue.
I miss you.
And now I'm down,
not getting any younger,
and feel miserable.
Where are you now,
When I really need you,
To see me through,
and be you.
I miss me,
I miss the strong,
fearless,
determined,
Me.
I miss the days I loved
who I used to see,
in my reflection,
without rejection,
I miss the me
who used to be.

Will I go white
or bald. Sickly skinny
or obese. Maybe a round belly,
jolly enough and symmetrically round.

Sagging muscles and blotted skin
could that, more so, be the case.
As wrinkles become the norm
and my face begets new folds

will I remember my reflection
as it was, or instead
how the mirror reflects. Passions
hopefully stay lit and burn

still and bright in my heart
and soul and my mind still
recalling youth as a moment, brief,
but beautiful and flickering,

keeping warm past lives. And grandchildren,
children and those friendships
still gracing existence allow the beams
sprouting light out from memory

and joy to be absorbed wholly
within their pours. In doing so
I'll know that the folds in my dying skin
and thin strands of hair meant life
and spirit and so I won't mind

when those days come.