There Flows a Darkness

A bitter, dark lament of the terror of growing old alone.

There flows a darkness, born of fear--

cold, malignant, and thick with loneliness.

 

Grief percolates, brewing desperation

for loving arms, safe and strong,

that will never hold me again.

 

Mired in chilling, black, molten tar of terror--

ravenous, ever-growing, feasting

on dead dreams and steady streams

of loss, despair, fragility, and futility.

 

Forgotten or forgetting--which is worse?

 

Abandonment--you are my history;

are you my destiny, or simply self-fulfilling prophecy?

You're a relentless, suffocating muck

that brings perpetual dread to my soul.

Frantic attempts at escape have proven

that every path leads right straight back to you.

           

The sinking shadow spreads, expanding 

from within and from without.

Where bleakest blackness grows

there once flowed love and light,

now a distant, fading memory, like a dream.

 

My fullness, my abundance, forever lost--

whittled and withered away, dispensed

in disposable, single-serve moments.

Returned for deposit.  Rinse and repeat.

Recycled. Reused.

 

My domino effect of failure:

first hope capitulates, then happiness,

as confidence concedes. Death

of identity descends. Everything

I was or ever hoped to be is lost

within the cancer of despair.

 

I survived a lack of love when young;

hope was a powerful enabler.

I endured isolation and rejection,

my stubborn strength, somehow enough.

Upon maternal instincts I stayed afloat,

as my eyes kept sight on someday.

But older now, with eyes pried open,

I find myself paralyzed

by a single savage question:

 

What will become of me, now?

 

Who will be there when I fall

to tell me everything's alright?

Who will hold me in their arms

when it gets chilly in the night?

Who will share my sunset days

when my home's an empty nest?

Who will hold my hand

when I someday lay my mom to rest?

Who'll still see the younger me inside

when I've turned wrinkled, old and gray?

Who will reassure my fears

when life’s tragedies come my way?

 

Upon whose loving strength will I depend

when my life draws near its final end?

 

There flows a darkness, born of fear--

cold, malignant, and thick with loneliness.

Reviews

[Hannah]

Beautiful. I love the rhythm in the end, I feel like everything before it is describing how this last part really feels to the author. I know these feeling wells. The words you used brought tears to my eyes because I know what it feels like to want these things and fear that I'm never going to have them. I specifically love the line, "Who will see the younger me inside when I've turned wrinkled, old and gray?" People say to just give it time, that someone will come along. But how much time? How will I know when he's here? What if I miss him? You really hit the nail on the head with this poem. I love it when I can feel the emotion of the author when I'm reading poetry, it's something I can relate to. Beautifully done.

[Ashfallen]

Thank you so much for taking the time to read, and to leave such detailed and heart-felt feedback. "How much time," indeed! And starting over after failure is harder than it sounds, I think, and moreso as we age. I so appreciate your words and that you can so deeply relate. Thank you again.

[Gaia Octavia]

I enjoyed your wording and I have an answer (just my opinion) for all of the questions at the end of your poem: You. You can be all those things for yourself even if someone else never is and there is nothing wrong with that. You have proven your strength and if you continue to believe in it and rely on it and REFUSE to settle for unhappiness you will be just fine my dear :-)

[Avanthika]

forgotten or forgetting - which is worse , i like that line , it really put me in confused state which is worse , am still looking for the answers.

[Ashira Macy]

Ash, I think this is probably one of my favorite poems by you. We are all filled with so much doubt in ourselves that we are constantly questioning our decisions and whether or not people will stay with us and see us through our hardships. Yes, we muddle through for other people, but are we really happy?

You're a relentless, suffocating muck
that brings perpetual dread to my soul.

There were a million brilliant lines in this poem, but these one stuck out to me. I think "suffocating muck" caught my attention. Really beautiful work on this.

[Wandering Minstrel]

Well, the writing is remarkable. You, as always, pull your reader in for a close look.This is a very unique view

[ImSJ]

Well written but horribly despairing. The writing is succinct and not glutted with unnecessary wordage. Quite a good piece of work. I sincerely hope that things are beginning to look up for the speaker though!

[Deepwater]

I enjoyed this piece, it was very strong keep writing

[Patrick]

What a profound and thoughtful piece. Great job with the imagery here. Keep up the good work.

[Susan Beth Horvath]

Nicely interwoven with imagery and emotion.

[K Scott Smith]

Very interesting write, currently-themed and full of energy

[Ashfallen]

Thank you.

[Limitality]

Such loneliness, and fear portrayed; such a amazing read! I can feel exactly what the writer is feeling. Such detailed emotions wrapped into this piece, truly beautiful thank you.

[Ashfallen]

Thank you so much for taking the time to read, and to leave such heart-felt and kind feedback.