My darkened room,

it was once the sanctuary in which music

sang out with fury and blasted

with intense and beguiling beauty,

a song for each occasion and with the speakers

encroaching as near as possible to my ears

and laying eggs

of a foundation to keep me sane,

in my darkened tomb.

 

Curtains never opened, they remain shut now,

closed to make sure the mole like sun

never peeks its snout through where dust clouds reign.

I like to see in the dark and let my eyes not

envisage the light that emanates

from unnatural sources and the burn

they impress into my head, the burn

of the headache

and the deep growl of the wolf

of nuisance that comes from

entering the light.

 

Everybody should seek a dark place,

the refuge against the whispering that

the light provides, the growl of the impatient

wolf stalking the bright days,

mine remains as it ever did;

close by, where imagination

can run riot down forever alleyways

and which the wolf, the thief of darkness

cannot stalk without

being seen.

 

Ian D. Hall 2015