Tell us a story
tell us a story please
one to hold the darkness back
to drown out the voices that call
things which howl and shriek and freeze
things which are unreal and unnatural and unmade
and should disappear like steam when a window opens
should be only a bad dream
and yet they walk….
tell us a story
make it sad and sweet
with a happily ever after
to remind us of daylight
and hope
nothing of the fall
of our fall
nothing of our despair and our fight
of things that bite and
that drink
nothing of the ones who are struck down
dealt a killing cut and instead of disappearing into the ground
with crosses of carnations and tears and prayers
stand and walk again
with cold hungry eyes
backlit by an unholy light
tell us a story
one where the good guys win
that doesn’t end with a few carefully hoarded candles
and a plan that ran out long ago taking hope with it
and the sorrow in your haggard face
tell us a story
another story
just one more story
the last one
as we close our eyes and slip away
to evade
the darkness


About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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