The Season of Nightmares

We are for the dark
this season we move into 
not a time of crackling leaves and ripe apples
not the long days of lemonade in a sweating glass
the reign of light is behind us
prophets with their symbols and the sacred held high as talismans
have fallen devoured 
and technology worshipped in the valleys cannot explain
cannot hold back
the rolling black tide advances and we move into this season
this season of nightmares
we are for the dark
and as the turning world slows 
we run outside and point jabbering at the sky 
and act surprised
act as if deeply offended
 by its blackness
@jayetomas2014
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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. Not.....me. 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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