Prisoners

Some days the poems are so dark
you do not dare release them,
voracious and empty,
black holes of pain and hopelessness
that serve no one,
least of all yourself.

You pack them away,
afraid to kill them, for they hold
truth, but more afraid
to feed them
the light.

About this poem

Lately, a lot of my poetry has been dark, but the darkest ones have not appeared here. Yesterday for instance, I tossed the first poem of the day out, and wrote a more hopeful one, not because it was how I was feeling, but because I needed to break out from my own prison of darkness. The poem I posted yesterday was an act of defiance.

Like I said yesterday, mostly I preach to myself.

Tom