the dying warmth of embers

[Note: there were some text effects here used to enhance the words, but have not converted well with the importing of the old diaries… might try to fix them up one day]

The poetry has  taken leave of  left my soul –
has left a hole for filling by
what else of such a complex shape?
It’s not so easy to replace
that which I’ve always grown around,
that which I’ve for so long entwined
(though is now suddenly gone).

The light of life has left my eyes,
has left my pupils blacker than
I think that even they should be.
I find it hard to reignite
that which has waned now for so long –
that to which I’ve lost the spark
(if indeed it still exists).

So while you’re here, please tell me that
not every nook must be so brightened;
assure me that not every void
must be so filled or else collapse.