Poetry

'a torch put out in fields of snow'

A finger circled my red button

This finger is one I do not know

It does not know me, yet cares not.

And I hide my cares for show.

Sharpened nail scratches varnish

Eking out a demons wail

At once my sense is heightened,

At once I wear my veil.

The button says depress me,

My body wishes to believe,

That all this gruesome cess pit

Offers is light relief.

I thought you'd imagine sirens, or an explosion

But this is just not so

It is a slow, distinct erosion.

A torch put out in fields of snow

Calm as it drifts out of day

Calm as it culls all life

Soft as the touch of a child

Dark, and in darkness I will thrive.

Sam Packer