Write Now and Later

The darkness seeks
to devour the light.

I felt the wind and believed
it was the breath of God;
the presence unseen.

For six days,
the hands of man work
to change my image.

On the seventh day,
my soul receives condemnation
because their dust is on my flesh.

I am weary;
traveling to the same places
at different ends of the road.

Those impulsive moments
that led to fall of hope and optimism.

I stumbled across my missing manuscripts;
the handwritten pieces of
eclectic dreams smells like morning dew.

The words smudged and unrecognizable,
language incoherent because
I lost the child within.

The rain is pouring
anger, hate, and contempt;
the heavy drops saturating the ground.

God created this world and left me
drowning in the flood.

I am dying
beneath the fathoms of fairy tales.