Wednesday, August 31, 2011



As I wait for the approaching night,
yearning to be blinded by black.
I reminisce of old evils
done to me, without thoughts of remorse.
I am one with myself.

Myself, alone, my oneness looks black.
Back at a past of evils.
Medieval renderings of remorse
Force themselves through my mind, myself.
Self-painted versions of painful penance.

Penance in forms of whips, human evils
Vile happenings created to extract remorse
Worse because necessary for others, I confess no sin myself.
Self-made into what I am, I am the protector of penance.
Circumstances' victim allowed peace only at night.

Night, my only friend, accepts: does not demand remorse.
Course, uneducated commoners, though, yell to me to end myself.
Self-righteous martyrs. Unholy peons. Resent their penance.
Chance only lets them yell, without fear of pain in the night.
Light strips the True of their power, turning good from black.

Black tried to protect the truth, and only I, myself,
Self-taught, have been able to hide the light through penance.
Lancing the treachery, trying to return holiness to the night.
Fright of good kept infidels believing in the wondrous black.
Slack in their faith, they revel in numerous evils.

Evils I have spent my life holding down, through penance.
My stance strong, loved them I have through punishment for night.
Devils now persecute me, and want me to leave the safe black...
Lack they the knowledge. I am lonely in a land of evils.
Weevils eat at my soul, but for my love I feel no remorse.

Remorse I shall not, no evils have I done.
Black night falls, and the crowd leaves me to myself.


originally written 1990?

First off, hey Warren! Thanks for following, you're my most favorite ever! Now, this poem was written for my poetry writing class taught by Jennifer Horne in the early 90's. I have been very proud over the years that I wrote a sestina for that class, and when I pulled this's not a sestina. It seems inspired by sestinas, but, nope, not a sestina. I still like it. At this point in my writing, I really liked writing poetry for the sound the words made together. I also really liked (and still do) weird, scary stuff. I think I remember what this poem was about , but I am also interested in what y'all get from it, from any or all of them actually.  Thanks for reading, thanks for clicking your reactions, and thanks for the comments! Have a good day!


  1. Awesome! I remember this one, and I always liked it a lot!!! Awesome!!!!



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