2004-01-09 - 4:51 p.m.
The last slive of desert sunlight fades slowly
As if clinging to the chance to illuminate desolateness
To show the entire world -particularly myself-
A mirrored image of my soul
It eventually of course must let go
And give way to an even darker reality
Of moon-lit sand dunes
And of the sound and smell of death in the air
Dante's very own Inferno holds no comparison
To the fire and screams in a personally created Hell
Or the loneliness found in a poet's mind's self-destruction
Rifle in hand I give way to all internal daemons....
Self-confrontation would seem to be an option here
But the results of such truths seem so sincerely terrifying
And so I wait for Fate's screaming bullet
Or ticket to paradise...
All the while wondering if either one could truly set me free
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