Evil exists to confront good
Yet good doesn’t exist to confront evil
It simply is good, the all-good
At the basis of Life.
Is this too hard to understand?
How about death exists only
As the extermination of life
While life exists not in opposition to death
But simply a good in itself
At the basis of Life.
Light and dark exist in opposition.
But darkness is merely the absence of light
While light is not the absence of dark;
One is a something (photons)
The other a nothing (lack of photons).
So light and dark
And good and evil exist in opposition
But in each case one is creative and primary
And the other reflective and reactionary.
In other words, one will remain
When the other has faded
But then again when there is one
There will be the other…
(10/8/26)
Early man raised fire against the stygian wilderness
It was used for protection, illumination, and social glue
Its dancing, enchanting, vermilion tones
Cavorting, consorting with deep copper hues
Embellishing, meshing with saffron incandescence
But it could not prevent the darkness inside of us,
For every day we summon darkness into the presence of light
We feed that darkness within
Whilst feeding the light without
Just as fire cooked the food that nourished us
Pride is the fire that covets us as fuel
Anger is what stokes that fire,
Burning hotter until there is no oxygen left
Hatred is that very flame which gives no warmth or safety
And once consumed we are colder and weaker than before
Violence allows that fire to consume others
Burning away their skin,
Leaving nothing but ash in our wake
And all that is left is the darkness
We have summoned for ourselves
I have sought to conquer death,
his reaping blade was just too impalpable against my neck.
Wherein I must traverse alongside a withering flower—
has society already proscribed death?
An incurable disease has fallen,
the doctors left disheartened,
my family already blasé.
Then why I must be anguished?
Ambrosia was never meant to be eaten—
it yearned to be saved.
And if consumed by entitled desires,
it would grapple all mortals to death.
It is inequitable for me to have the antidote
to a disease that was never meant to be cured.
I want to be sanctified once more,
but I am already disillusioned by the veil.
the moon drifts through the stars,
ropes soft against its glow,
a small basket swaying
over the dark purple mountains~
quiet as a lantern carried by the night.
a faint wind turns the ropes,
slow enough to see the motion,
steady enough to trust.
the basket dips once,
a gentle nod toward the ridgeline,
then rises again
into the cool, bright hush.
the mountains hold their shape,
dark shoulders folded beneath the sky,
watching the moon float past
as though it were a traveler
with no destination
Moon wanes
Dark’s domain
Moon waxes
Light’s faxes
The skull looks out with those cavernous eyes
My eye fell upon it this dark moonless night
What had it seen in the days when it roamed
Did it count this as home, arrive here at length
Day's sunrise no longer visits to bring it to life
What's passed before it now passes it by
Once counting for all it's now out of sight
What more can be said of these jaws clenching teeth
No lively tongue placed in that cheek turned to bone
Not a sight for the weak with no word left to say
And what of the rest of the skeleton crew
Who all did their best with what they had left
What separates them now from my contemplation
Is the flesh all that's weak... or is my spirit, too?
The moon mocks me,
cutting through the room uninvited,
bleaching a night that feels heavy,
pitch-black, and absolute.
Inside, the chest is just an echo chamber—
grief rattling against a heart that’s still young,
still trying to breathe,
still hopefully naive.
Then the familiar intensity floods back.
Memories hit like a high-speed chase,
uncaring and dangerous,
proving that time doesn't heal a thing—
it just stays.
Gasping for air,
you’re just a silhouette,
a shadow staring straight up
into a dead, starless sky,
begging the dark for a rewind button.
Were you ever actually significant before this?
No applause in this silence.
The question just sits there—
unread.
Isolated, bitter,
mind running on a loop—
does anyone even care,
or is everyone just surviving?
Tears blur,
pools of tasteless salt...
and the dark doesn't move.
Visual Art: The accompanying background image was generated using AI assistance to visually capture the modern, nocturnal mood and atmospheric themes described in my original poem.
Their shadows, daytime's, invite
A moral night.
Whilst these, as toweringly leaved
Family gatherings.
If tipsy, each, both hung wide
Over, blood shot eyed
The more accepted who toasts
Life; out real love springs.
Steel cauldron simmers setting a spell,
my slow stir renders it potent.
With this salt circle I chant..
‘Release the witch in me.’
I feed skills within,
magic expands.
Controlled by
clockwise
brew.
See how she dreamed...
See how she smiled...
The man in the moon beamed
She is a night child
With stars in her eyes
Moonlight in her hair,
A neon glow that never dies
In her heart is always there
Was not born to midnight
She came to it one day,
Something there just felt right
And the dark stole her away...
Dark night, starless skies, shadows aplenty;
Vibrant and glowing, mysterious eyes,
An intense stare; piercing, fierce, as cold as ice;
Camouflage is your aggressive nature—
An armor forged to shield a fragile core.
Your hunting prowess is strongly unmatched;
Cunning agility, ambush of prey;
Terror eminent, always solitaire,
Condemned to a throne built for one.
Moving quickly, feasting, merciless deed;
A feast to starve
the quiet beast within.
Retreat to your lair, mystical panther,
To mask the wounds you swear do not exist,
And rest until another day is near.
As you awake again from your slumber,
Letting your powerful roar fill the air—
A desperate proof of life to shake the void;
Still divine, rare symbolic mystery,
A fallen god in your own architecture,
Master Shapeshifter, ultimate disguise.
Visual Art Disclaimer: Cover image conceptually designed and generated using artificial intelligence to complement the themes of my original poem.
Dressed up in absolute silence,
Empowered in wonderful quietness,
Heard in royal toughness,
and moved in hushed stillness.
The beautiful darkness I hold in my heart,
I put on my quiet voice in the loudest muteness,
Nurturing the miraculous motion in the fiery mind,
A cinematic dream is growing up in blackness.
Fading into the shifting sand and pure tenderness,
The dark melody is played in a tragic paradise.
I am free now, and freedom is my company,
Accompanied by my glittering rusty iron sword.
I am a slow-motion darkness,
I am a shiny, frameless mirror,
I am sliding like water,
Still holding the lineage of the warm blood.
I carry blackness between maybe and once upon a time,
The beauty of motion lives in tremendous calm.
Remarkable reticence deserves greater murkiness,
as darkness paves the way to beautiful mystery.
Out very late,gardening in the dark.
When my head torch failed.
I completly lost the plot.
Time meets no resistance -
no grand display
or hustle ~
Guffaw from the potter's field
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ in life:
Something ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ drew me down,
My ¦¦¦ strength ¦¦¦¦¦ failed me.
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ suddenly needed help
And ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ I ended up
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ in Spoon River.
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ they hauled me up ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ unhooked the rope ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
And ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ flung my ¦¦¦¦¦ arms
Over the ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ top of the tower --
¦¦¦ they slipped ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ down, I plunged
Through ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ darkness!
(Blackout of Mickey MGrew by Edgar Lee Masters)
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