...What I Am

Light lies within the
Dark crevices behind my eyes
To embrace my darkness
Is to swallow my light
My mystery illuminates my being
And makes my presence
Real
Defined
I am...

Between the Hollows

In between the crevices of my-
Disillusion, is the stored
Surplus of my indecision
That contributes
To this seemingly impenetrable
Lost state- that I wander in.
This cold fog that forms an
Unyielding maze keeps me
Trapped INside and tricks,
My body into believing I am-
Floating in a warmth of life
When in all actuality
I am not
Living but
Existing, my
Decision (and choices)
Have been robbed of
Merit
My creations-raped
Of superb grandeur,
My eyes- stripped
Of their natural shine,
And my innocence- hides
Behind strong cobwebs
Fabricated from its blatant annual
Neglect.
My body shifts
Into the earths realm
And remains visible
But its substance Hollows
Symbolizing that it projects-nothing
And Stands
for a cause as lost as the soul that wanders
in the chilled fog
of oblivion.

"A Coming"

A coming
Creeps like a night air
Arrives upon you like a chill
Steals
Away that which keeps your heart’s constant, rhythm.
Change pushes
Unnerves,
Uproots, one out of their current rest-
-unrecognized state of idolatry
and forces one to move.

A coming
Resonates itself in the future
Travels back to the past
Appears in the present
Slapping one with a foreseeing vision
Cultivates,
Revamps,
The drive that stirs one’s being,
Exhales a photosynthetic awakening
And fabricates life into dormancy

A coming
Creeps like a night air
Arrives upon you like a chill
Has been knocking on your back door
While standing at the front
An inconspicuous figment of a later imagination
Consistency kills progress
The repetitive nature wisps up a spell
That obviates,
Casts a dark dense shadow
Warding off new comers
Isolating oneself in a realm
Quarantine
Self constricted

A Coming
Steals
Away the imbalance
That which keeps the heart’s
Constant rhythm
Brings a pungent
Aciculate
incising
Change
That pushes
Unnerves
Uproots one out of their current
Rest
Uplifts them from out of their
Premature coffin
Thrusts forward a clenched hand
Presence that dissipates all-
Dirt, collective residue,
Exposes
The unrecognized state of idolatry
And forces one to
Move.

By: Darah Patterson

"Ghost Of Me"

the ghost of me is a silhouette of the distant dreams that have been hid from me

a walking reflection of my past n fantasies

the ghost of me is all that i could have been

should have done

would have seen

but did not become

By: Darah Patterson