Poem

Literary (Autobiographical) Review

Light was there
faintly
as through a linen curtain
drawn shut

So many words once
alive; unsettled
moving about with barely room for
one another, barely folding together enough
to make any real utterance

No civility
or reverence or love

Only harsh brutality, natural
like the first man
looking through flaming swords

Light barely perceived
illumination only enough
to penetrate all but unnoticeably
the true and utter darkness