The Full Story
Heath
Hello to all! I thank you for taking the time to look through my artwork and writing, I have always found solace in words and art; they have been a home when I didn't have one. I like to use the darkness we have all felt or experienced and delve deeper into these emotions. I believe as creatures, humans are quite ferocious. Not in the sense we are destroyers, rather we are cursed to feel and to make others feel. There is a deeper craving beyond nurture or nature, one that is fascinating to explore. I hope you enjoy.
Tasteful Darkness
I went to a park
And there was a cave
It was called midnight rain,
Because it was cold and damp,
And so dark it was void of color.
I went into the cave afraid only momentarily.
My eyes turned the empty void before me,
Into swirls of frozen breath and shadows,
So dark I believed them to be angels.
In the back of the cave,
There was a small nook,
Like a nest or den for the devil.
It was only visible after a few moments,
When my eyes adjusted to the shades of nothing.
The whispers of water droplets seduced me,
Begged me to enter the darkest darkness.
I entered the nook and felt the chilling silence.
The fragrant smell of purity.
The wet touch of a secret.
I was completely erased from the light.
I watched as a family entered the cave.
A large man, a tall woman, and a small child.
They looked around the darkness,
Taking it in just as I had,
But there was a permanent fear in their eyes.
The child looked back at my nook,
she couldn’t see me.
All three of them were to scared to venture deeper
The wind told them to run.
They didn’t belong in the dark.
I could tell they were afraid of the nook,
Imagining the devil silently waiting just beyond their sight.
They quickly left the cave, glancing back,
Waiting for something to pull them in,
Just as they reached the light.
It’s hard to describe,
Knowing they were somewhat right.
There was something in the dark watching them,
It was me.
Fly Away or Float
There's something so intriguing about a dead bird.
Almost as beautiful as the ones in the sky.
Although they can no longer streak the air,
Or fill the trees with melancholic Melodie’s.
They still hold such beauty.
They grow heavy when they die.
Their muscles are slack and worn.
Their feathers turn to glass,
Their beaks into cement.
There are over 40 billion birds in the world
Yet in a lifetime we only see a handful of the dead.
I believe when birds die some fly to heaven.
And the others grow heavy,
Unable to flap or float,
And their souls are plucked from the concrete beneath them,
Down to hell.
Pagan Pacifism
The village grows cold,
Predominantly male and angrily pondering,
Staring at the presumed demon before them,
Small and shaking,
With charcoal skin and velvet eyes.
Who has received sentencing.
They scorched it at the stake,
They drowned it in the pond,
They beat it with rocks,
Its clothes were tattered and burnt,
Its eyes swollen and cheeks red,
But it would not die.
After all these punishments,
They finally pondered something anew,
What had the devil done?
Then a small child appeared from the sky,
With skin charcoaled and eyes radiantly crimson,
The same as the accused.
The child descended from the sky,
Took the creatures hand and spoke,
“See Gabriel, this is why demons stay in hell”
