No one likes to say there are days when words keep the unwritten away,
and that’s their best, that if we didn’t have at hand a pen it could just as easily be a gun,
a bottle, an unsuspecting victim, or a patiently awaiting needle,
any tool to wrench sense from what doesn’t, carve away at the emptiness,
farthest corner from a gift, a rope burning forward one more inch, lasso and noose,
not yet poetry, last lines are only for what survives, art only for eternity,
not this slack of guarantee we tremble fingers along, reaching because we must,
because darkness is long, that’s all we ever know, never how much
Genres: Dark, Death, Fear, Hope, Hurt, Inspirational, Life, Motivational, Painful, Personal, Philosophical, Pressure, Redemption, Sad, Work
WILDsound Festival 