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Poetry by Shigé Clark

"Let the battered heart rejoice"

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dark

The Well

The Well

Light in Darkness – Re-run!

Light in Darkness

Theme Week: Selfless – 2

Death swept a crooked eye across the earth
And chuckled, puffing fumes of acrid smoke,
To see that all within the world of worth
Was under his domain, since he awoke
From one man’s broken bond, in savage birth.

Then fell upon the land a blinding light
That formed into the figure of a man.
He marched toward Death, his presence scorched the night,
He gripped a golden scepter in his hand,
And walked in robes of rich and flawless white.

Death shuddered to behold the Maker come,
Who never stooped to walk so low before.
“What do you want with me, Creator’s son?
I reap what is my right to take, no more.
Man’s days are mine, and I will not succumb!”

The ground protested with a mighty groan,
When light stretched out and laid his scepter down,
“I have forgone the power of my throne.
Relinquishing the glory of my crown,
I come to buy man’s life back with my own.”

Death drew back, for he knew the soul within
Worth all the soiled lives in his expanse,
But still he raised his sickly hand and grinned.
For how could such as he deny the chance
To see the son of God bow down to him?

Then, clasping hands, Death met his burning eyes,
While earth and air around them cracked and crashed!
Both screamed in anguish, and Death realized
His fatal error, as he sank to ash,
For meeting light, the shadow always dies.

– s. Clark

Singing Stars

Ah, how it hurt her heart,
when she sang out her refrain
to find that most hands reaching back,
best understood her pain.
The sorrow in her songs
was the part which reached their souls,
they felt her hurt, her emptiness,
they met with matching holes.
And when she sang them songs
all of beauty, love, and grace,
they stared in puzzled silence, like
they did not know her face.
And so she sang the dark,
but she mixed it in with light,
so they could always find the stars
within the crushing night.

– s. Clark

Wandering Hands

Slip not your slither-hands on me
To snake across my skin
Your probing touch may warming be
But strikes me cold within,
Your eyes may call me beautiful
But rake my body raw
And fine words only serve to pull
My soul beneath your maw.
I do not want the drunken breath
That flows between your lips,
Its sweetness only speaks of death
From roaming fingertips
A death of spirit, hid within,
That marks much deeper still
Than spoiled body, black with sin
That revels in the kill.
Your greedy hands tear through my heart
And scar my searing mind
So I would rip myself apart
To free me from your bind.

– s. Clark

Pride

Muddy mire, sucking sand
Muck that pulls and swallows whole
Garbage clutched within the hand
Hoarded as a jeweled treasure
By imaginary measure
Leeching on a soul

Troubled trickster, smiling pain,
Dancing in his ignorance
Thinks he dances in the rain
But the blissful fool will drown
Washed away, the twisted clown
Never had a chance

Break his will before he burns
Everything that he holds dear
How is it he never learns?
Fire scars the more you hold,
Clay breaks if it will not mold
Clutch submission near

– s. Clark

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