Far Too Common
by Jody Coughlin
Through the night the darkness brings me low.
I cannot go to you for solace.
You are not my twinned life in space and in time.
No matter how I feel.
Lives lived my small degrees.
Never extended beyond the grief.
You are not my saving grace.
The one bright spot on this narrow landscape.
You are an island.
Centre of the moat.
Pillars standing to the side.
Strength of mountains hale to God.
God responds in symphony of sunlight.
You turn your back on them.
They are nothing to you now.
Judging their joy.
Betraying their trust.
Throwing diamonds all away.
Buy you-you take your shadow and wear it like a veil.
You drape blackness around you like a wedding gown.
Married to your misery.
Mistress to your sorrow.
You lure life until it dies at your feet.
You take health and make it ill.
You take ill and make it a god.
An Egyptian King long dead.
Scratches on a wall.
Dust. Dust. Dust.
Mire. Dirt. Mud.
Deep is the trench in which you toil.
Nobody can reach you there.
You are all alone with your fantasy.
You are all alone with your apparitions, trumped-up lies and cold cold earth.
Your friends are really enemies lusting for your wealth.
Your wisdom is a joke.
On and on you bore.
Downward toward your living hell.
Six feet under.
Six feet under and digging deeper.
Down with the spiders.
Down with the dead.
Under the black night sky.