Recently, as my life has been so amazingly depressing, I have taken to writing poetry (of the depressing T.S.Eliot kind), so....... I apologize in advance if this freaks you out or is a tad strange!

I know where it lies,

far far away, beyond our eyes
bright beams of light radiate from there,
not far enough to touch, barely within an inch
yet as distant as a child from its dead mother.

I see her ghost, sitting here against the panelled wall
she is still and unchanging, an infinite presence

The shutters of the house close, she is gone
A crumpled blood stained tissue caresses the spot where she once lay

I say, I say, I say; will she not ever go away

like glue it sticks, a spreading plague of sadness, malice, depression
concealed in waves of sweet smelling flowers,
trying to brush the callused soles of ones feet

They try, they try harder, but to no avail

The plague repels them, they wilt and fail
But was it me? Should I take the blame?
The woe and shame bestowed itself upon this being
This succulent, living vessel, eager to absorb the beams of light radiating from that place

Closer, closer it comes, it ebbs it flows it meanders
Its way around bustling trials and tribulations

But where does it go? Will I ever know know? No!

Some are graced with piles of clover, others salt and wings
these invisible, fragile creatures of the light
scattering their magic dust so others may sleep calmly at night

The others who are missed, however, broaden their wings
wallow in the sticky, turbulent, putrid stench of despair and ignorance.
Like ants, swarming they prey on the gifts of creatures past