there is something to say
but I won't say it
Why God can't I say it?
It's a meaningful thing.
It's filling my subconscious
It rises, significantly, out of the deep
It looms behind me as a storm
It falls, roaring, only to return at once
A frozen waterfall
A leviathan
It creeps up on me
When the wind of day has died down
It nips at my heels, a wild thing
It looms, it's dark, it's significant, it's home is in the night
And, my god, it is a wild thing
Superb, this failing
Damned, this skin!
Wink out with the same insignificance as the rest
The dark and wild thing regresses
And stays hidden
Awaiting a greater herald than I
Posted by Hans Andersen
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at
8:04 PM
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