The Darkness’ Curse

The Darkness’ Curse, 4/11/2016, Deon Mumple

A dark little man at a dark little desk
Thinks dark little thoughts about all the darkness
The lights are all bright, pierce the heart of the night
But his bleeding soul drips the dark and his fright
Worry circles grow, not concentrically
But in a spiral just like Fibonacci
His sin, he’s hidden, but he knows and it shows,
Fighting, fear of discovery only grows
He tries hard to ignore the strangers outdoors
Safely hid from insidiousness of boors
Lock the door to insure nobody gets in
Even the media suggests hate could win
As we teeter and lean on edge, the cliff,
It does no good to wail and to cry and sniff,
While stiff upper lips get a fist for “fuck you,”
Tomorrow’s news promises there’s nothing new
Hell’s casting its spell, tells the blind all is well,
A dark little man fears they will crack his shell
It doesn’t seem to matter, what any do,
The dark escapes harshly, and lies becomes true,
The dark hopeful man at his dark little desk,
Says a prayer, he cares, trapped inside the darkness.


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