| DIRGE OF THE DISEMBODIED FLAME She feels her way in the total darkness, all things felt and experienced so far away from the teeny tiny part alive, shrinking smaller still with every breath; the trust, the hope she had has died.. the smell of death is left. What’s right? What’s wrong? What is trapped inside does burn the soul to blackest pitch; leaving the bitter taste of choking loss, reeking of stinking rotting nothingness; guts strangled long in ash and slime..then.. up from the ashes--, no matter. In all directions driven and reaching out, desperately acting out a waning ‘life’; such desperation has become the driving force- from this she can no longer hide; nothing more, nothing less. An anonymous alien on a doubtful distant shore, in hopes of capturing or igniting a spark anew; as hands a taunting wickless candle hold, complete with bold but disembodied flame; no light upon the way shines through. As all understanding fades away, the shades of grey become as one, and wretching cries from the depths scream out ‘ no more..no more..no more..no more..’ in haunting dreams, amidst perplexing schemes, in fearful wakefulness. Face slapped--it all slips away so very fast--collapses, and fizzles out as screens of smoke and dirge surround what is found to be just a mirage; stumbling there-nothing there-nothing left. Hand grasping a lie--that’s what she is--it’s all a lie! The din of crazy lore succumbs, and into a dire and deadly silence falls, daring to call out in raspy garbled sounds, before being held collectively captive by a shroud of searing although silent tears; underlying the fraud, underlining the facade, belieing the disguise and foretelling what’s to come.. while crumbling from within. © Sarah Gallant 2001-2002 |