Flies in the Dark (a Living Rough Draft)

Prologue

Didn't see the love within,
Through the tears.
Longest transformation seen
For the best.
Parted like a blooming flower,
In the year.

Mourned her every single second.
Letting Go,
He couldn't bear to see it through.
Who was she?
The Endless question, a mystery.

"But a light," he said,
"Is still the most beautiful thing,
Even if it burns.
It was my fault."

The afterimage burned into
His cerebral retina.
How could he see the other, though,
With such a disability?

His eyes, therefore, were focused inward,
And his hunger insatiable.

In the darkness,
You can close your eyes to feel safer,
But if you open them
You risk the blinding dangers
Of imaginary light—
The one she's cast upon
The creatures of the night.

A feeling every day;
A single night,
The one in which she lies.

His wounds:
Self-inflicted sufferings of growth.
Misty are his eyes,
Bleeding sometimes,
Only when he sees her ghost.

"Does love exist?
Or is it simply a myth to tell our children?"
And so his thinking goes.

—

A sparkle,
It grows into a trail,
Like a comet:
Fireworks abound.

And don't you know what's said about such sparkles?
Unlikely to be found;
He's only so far high
Up off the ground,

But that's where new love's too.

Afterimages
No longer pester him when sparks do fly;
A magnet to a disk.
Destruction
No longer bounds him to his memory.

"But what would happen if the dead do rise?
Have you held on for so long
Only to let it go?"

"Aha,"
I said,
"I see you, you can't fool me, I am God,"

"But surely you aren't serious?"
Fear said.

And I,
"I've sacrificed so much all on my own,
The dead deserve their peace all on their own,
And she will have to prove to me her worth
Or get lost in the sea."

"Fortunes aren't exact,"
said Fear to me,
"You can't always block from the attack."

"But when it comes,"
I said,
"I think it will reflect what death can be,
That she who is the dead can only see,
That she's the one that causes pain to me,
In order that I grow,

And once she sees the me that I've become,
Karma pays her dues in deadly silence,
And thus, will she be shown the door to growth,
But I will not be the one who opens it,
For that's the task to overcome,
If only she be worthy."

"And the Cougar?
Hungry for a drip of blood,
A real delight of the divine—
Shall you obtain?

Or will you let the dead be the decider?
What do you say,
The God of all of us inside your head?"
Spoke Fear.

And I replied,
"I walk the path alone in perfect stride."

I thought I knew best not to confide,
In Fear.