Spark in the Dark

Luxor, Memphis, Alexandria.  I'm on the road to your bric-a-brac antiquity.  Surely, some knick knacks and knock offs line this road.  Pharaoh tarot.  I'm a Greek dancing through a dusty deserted lane.  I'm twisted along the Nile from Upper to Lower Egypt.  Looking for a flood.  A flood of emotions has held me captive for weeks.  I wanted to let red run, rain down my arm from self induced harm.  You smiled the next day, you frowned the day after that.  Hieroglyphs of emotional range.  Like a Hieronymus Bosch painting.  You twisted me up in your movie frame.  A movie with really bad acting.  I've decided a way out of my pain was music.  Music is as it has always been.  Music is a way out, an exit sign to pain.  The voices of Opeth, Nile, Crematory, Moonspell tell me what to do and provide doors to leaving.  You can not harm me.  We almost burned together.  You and I.  There are no more sparks in the dark.  The electrical charge has been tamed.  It has been quieted and directed.  It wanted me dead.  Now it is wired up.  I'm in charge.  I'm driving away.  Poetry doesn't have to say anything.  It only has to provide doors.  We know.  I follow.  Sacred writing, ritual writing.  I'm wyrding out the ritual now.  No more pain, no more.  No more sorrow, no more.  No more defeat.  I'm done losing.  No more abuse, no more.  I'm not your stone to throw.  I can't ease your frustration.  I've got my temptation.  To be myself.  I have light, I have worlds.  I don't need closure.  I have wolves and night.  I have streams to follow.  There is this place inside of me that gives me all the comfort I need in the darkest of times.  I'm still here.