A Prayer for the Dark

Insoluble in life, dissolved in darkness

Without ghosts or apparitions,

Solitary, even in embrace,

Save for smiles, and the sharing of common pains.

In a wilderness, I echo amongst the trees

Life in abundance, occupying space alone.

Voids fill voids, formless gravity connects one to another

No strings to pull on, empty in ourselves.

We create creators to escape isolation,

But I know better than this

Afraid of the dark,

With no angels to comfort me.

To cease to be, once we have existed

In a child’s cries, lies proof of life.

No Gods to beseech, no Devils to forebode

Afraid of the dark,

In a starless room

I am alone.

A prayer for the night, on my flesh I compose,

When I am engulfed, let life live on.

My kidneys to the needy,

Let them be purified by me alone.

My liver to an alcoholic, for he has lived,

And found demons where I saw none.

Blood to all those longing,

Or drain in the gutters if my thoughts are polluted thus.

Let my marrow be used to fight cancers

Which plagued all efforts to love.

And if science should permit,

Gift my eyes too,

Perhaps there is more to see than suffering,

And it was I that knew not how.

My tongue then, to whomever

That I may comfort someone, with a kiss

Or simple words. Taste life anew,

This time maybe not so bitter.

Let me not forget

Life in totality,

So to the animals my flesh,

And my skin to adorn.

Lastly my heart, let it beat in another

That love should live on,

Regardless of object or form.

Only in this is being, the beauty of moments

Resonating in our breasts, a metronome for existence,

Use the measures for music,

Sing only of love.

My prayer for the dark, for a soulless soul

In life we live on, after we are gone.

With the matter of existing then, create impressions all round

That after the implosion, though the candle exhausted

The waves ripple on.

To face cessation, I have only fear

Of painlessness, when for pain I long.

So let my words carry in the organs, I bequeath to the earth,

The neurons die, all impulses gone

We return to nothing, but in life we live on.

By Haemophiliac.

Finished 17/12/09.