In light we see, the blemishes,
Give me darkness i insist,
Neath raven skies
The rhyming mind
Exists but never lives
The light at first diminished
Lost from sight,
I Squint to find,
Was the progeny of truth
Inside I bitterly denied
The light at first a glint
Of hope,
Now shimmering and bright
Existing neath
The raven sky
Now living as the mind
A prison i had created for myself, the story teller always writing fatal endings for himself, the truth within that can be the difference between being consumed by the darkness and merely in the presence of