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Rated: E · Poetry · Philosophy · #1765681
The internal struggle.
A blue-grey haze
That doesn't exist
Clings to the air
That surrounds a house
A house residing in the forest
Down a not-so-clear path
A path from anywhere

Inside the house are two beings
One demon, one angel
Each with a broken wing
Each wanting the other's wing

They, the demon and angel, dine together
One drinking bitter nectre
The other sipping a soothing acid
From across the table
There come no silent words
But light comes in through the window
From an invisible sky
Covered by trees
But the light gives no warmth
Just as the darkness takes no mind

There is only one bed
In a room upstairs
But niether sleeps
For fear that the other
Will strike in slumber
Sleep probably wouldn't end the pain anyway
Nor would it end the game
For the victor gets the fruit

The fruit is desired
By all who see it
But only two gaze upon it
One demon, one angel
But it remains out of reach
And niether will ever attain
With only one wing

The single fruit hangs from the trees
Above the bed of roses
Roses that never bleed red
Nor a rainbow of songs
For a broken heart

Inside the house
Whispers come from the basement
Bearing molevolent words
For a benevolent cause
Just like the attic
Which cries innocent tears
For a guilty conscience

The attic contains a mirror
While the basement holds a grave
The mirror bears no reflection
And the grave cradles no body
Only once the grave has been filled
And sorrowless glass leaves fall
Will one's reflection be revealed

A bird can be heard singing
From somewhere not so far away
But its song stirs no emotion
Just as its eggs hold no hope for new life

The bird rattles to a conclusion
And the trees' symphony of silence
Provolks only one thought
Whose life does this epilogue fallow?

Vines wind from the ground
And consume the house
The sands of time
Reclaiming the life
That it gave in grace
Another cycle completed
But it all will begin again
In a house residing in the forest
Down a not so clear path
A path from anywhere
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