The Gate of Psychological Darkness

The gate of psychological darkness
Opened yesterday, creaking on its hinges.
I stood there – a poor sick dog in the gutter
And the invisible token of my gifts – I scattered

Gifts of language, of music and vision
As real as the pain of summer flowers
Deactivated by the eyes of the dead –
They were raging within their old wooden crates

Author: blackbird212012

I am interested in multimedia work: songwriting, art, and creative writing. I have been involved also in theatre and music performances.

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