The Dark Days

The Pairs Of Eyes

Marvelous,

A clean abduction of meaning indeed.

Reduction of mind, matter and soul,

Seduction in kind, sebaceous and droll,

And a deep wide hole, where my heart used to be.

Generous,

Spread like fat, on the egg soaked toast,

Sat portions of slander, heaped on the plate,

Distortions of candor, seem perfectly straight,

At Eden ’s gate, sing the lies we all love the most.

Onerous,

The burden, audacity lightens that load,

For certain, effrontery ladled like gravy,

In front of me, cradled, the truth down on one knee,

And he, slain to keep in a cistern for foul toads.

Wondrous,

The pairs of eyes, focused and set,

The prized awe and entranced open ears,

The flies, bourgeois, dancing with fears,

Of the tears and needs, just now set, and not yet met.


	Baby, we’ve just begun. Rob Krabbe © 2003 The sand burned hot, an ashen searing hell. Thirsty dry ground and a very old story to tell, As gaping and ravenous mouths opened to the sky, Starving demons beaks seize at God himself. Mother swooped down and loomed low, Beautiful fat choice worms dangled and fell And as always, only blood satisfied. And as always, only children died. And as always, only time was left alive to tell. The only Father watched in tears as the Dragon devoured His daughters and sons. The hated man that owned the world’s fears Died from a bullet fired from his very own gun. The man with the stars in his hand said, “Halleluiah! Now what’s just and right is done”. The dark tall one sneered from hell, and said, “Baby, we’ve just begun.”

The edge
© rob krabbe

I'm walking close to the edge of my sanity,
Stalking most of the hedge of this tyranny,
My gawking brain must explain why its leaving me,
Sigh, tears, close to the barrel of my 45.
My temple, its cool to the touch of my skin,
The sites, useless, this close to within,
The heights, of major immovable pain,
But nearer my God to the floor with the drain.

My laughter betrays what's wrong with what's left of me,
After the maze, where my mind met the best of me,
Counting the days, from then till the end of me,
See then the ways, that in no trace offending me,
Casting the chaff with the wheat out to burning bright,
Leaving the cleaving to skirts and staunch tails of kites,
Making the baking brain sing songs all through the night,
Staking the waking dame, bring with her torching light.

Master the volleys of caster led trolleys,
and plaster the mollies, that hold up her picture.
Cast the bone firmly, and last the night early,
and mass climbing surly to sew up the suture.
The future, and past, with the loot you hold fast,
and the questions once asked, the answers held tightly,
The play then begins, and the day then appends,
and it starts all again, as its here, featured nightly.

I'm walking close to the edge of my sanity,
Stalking most of the hedge of this tyranny,
My gawking brain must explain why its leaving me,
Sigh, tears, close to the barrel of my 45.
My temple, its cool to the touch of my skin,
The sites, useless, this close to within,
The heights, of major immovable pain,
But nearer my God to the floor with the drain.

Eyes Upon The Hands Of Time
© rob krabbe

And the sun shines upon a weary soul,
Laid out upon the grass
As if the wind would lift it high,
If the heart knew what the soul would see,
Then never would it risk,
The questions that would chain the mind and I.

But the mind once freed can not be chained,
Not so, as simple death
Could tear it's pain in two.
The soul would move upon the grass,
Forever without care,
But never truly feel that it is through.

Once then, upon this quiet place,
A moment's peace would sit,
And breath the breath of life,
And will seduce, it's fragrance sweet,
And dry the tears for good,
And dry them once for all in all of time.

The new day dawns upon the night,
The rolling spinning fire,
And touches once again.
The mind that craves the simple truth,
Of where the day will go,
And where the day once done will come to end.

With eyes upon the hands of time,
The seconds click away,
And minutes into hours,
And hours make up tomorrow's day,
When all will start again,
And the mind lose more it's grasp upon it's powers.

Mind and the matter
© rob krabbe

The Mind and the matter
more former than latter,
is brash and full and fat
it drives me like cattle,
I shake and I rattle
and teases my soul with a spat,

the good and the evil,
and forcing my ego
to take it and smile through the pain.
"say cheese" says the brain,
and the trip to insane,
is so short, in a flash, now it came.

the brain cells, a`tingle
and posing and mingle
with other remarkable selves,

and now when I open,
my heart like a fool,
and place my soul on a rule,
for then I am free
to look and to see
to just where the blood will pool.

And watch as the cracks in my soul seem more gaping,
And talk when the ears have long since stopped their listening,
And hear what the world seems to miss from the clatter
And tease the soul with the mind and the matter.

I will linger, on
© r. krabbe

A crushing weight, this,
Leave now, this fate, bliss,
Nothing could be further from my soul,

A dark, dark, cloud, set
A thick, thick shroud, met
And pulled, by this omnipotent, black hole.

The hope imploded, then,
The heart deflated, sends,
My greetings, to my weary waiting friends.

For not today, light,
The end of dark, night
Will never come to me this endless life.

So shards of being, fall
Leave bones and seeing, all
That nothing can or wants this day to end.

And nothing breaths, air
Sin and sorrow, only, there
To fill my thirsty lungs with torpid night.

And exquisite death, can
Just tease a Christian, man
And fill the heart with guilt of dreaming peace.

Will never come, end,
Like some lost traveling, friend.
Pass by me arms outstretched, yet someone’s hell will cease.
And I will linger, on
And the echoed mocking, song,
And I will stand with tears and full voice sing.

And I will linger, on
And the echoed mocking, song,
And find the day, tomorrow’s mind will bring.

When does the question become the fixation,
The searching and stretching and wanting of life,
The answers so largely confused by the asking
The humanness clearly the engine of strife.

And whole and complete when the spirit is thrust,
Into the sock and it must find it's way,
To stay and not leave but to go in between,
And the mean of the night and the end of the day.

Found in the glimpse of what surely would be,
And to see what it was when it, free of the cage,
From the sage on the corner, that we all should die,
In this sinful relentless remorseless new age.

From deep down within, lay a pure deprivation
Of all, and of nothing in sleepless dismay,
That the guns that the children would bear are not toys,
And the boys and the girls who would kill, do not play.

From lack of connection, direction and spirit
Dissection of hearts from the ears that would hear it,
And torn from the bones are each morsel of life,
With the knife of the questions, we hide in the light.

Five Flavors

There were five distinct flavors of thought,
And they lived the extremes, and they fought,
For leverage and better,
To thrive then unfettered,
And rule with the power they sought.

The darkness was wandering round.
To gather each weakness it found,
And add them all up,
So he filled the black cup,
And thus grind any hope to the ground.

An easy and laid open chest,
With the blade himself did he in jest,
But joking was shocked
By the heart that was locked,
Tighter than all of the rest.

So darkness once brooding and bare,
Found an evil that well could compare,
So gladly he bowed,
To a voice in the crowd,
That he knew from the stench in the air.

In the course of my quest for X
I never thought it intentionally sleek.
But X eluded and hid from my queries,
with guile most demonic and mercy most bare,
For X would be life to me,
breath to me, sight to me,
camped at the foot of my sanity's reign
and my heart was beating
a rhythm was pleading,
but most would not see, would not sense, would not care.

Then X flashed its presence, I barely did see,
But I glimpsed its beauty, it's countenance rare.
And X equaled all of my hopes and my dreams,
And just from the hint of what I had seen here.
I followed for years,
to the ends, all my breath,
to the place where no other were even to dare.
To find more than part,
of my whole healthy heart,
but Y was X in the tenth place, not there?

So, then all my courage, I gathered around,
And went to the place, where Satan found rest,
Pretentious, portentous, haughty, and rude,
though there were no more answers than old rotten food.
So, Y was my soul,
in 1 empty old jar,
plus the force of the universe slamming about?
when the gravity struck me like
nothing and something,
like black and white, though much more than clout.

And when I had given up all but my life,
I turned to my wrists, with my sad old best knife,
am I crazy? ... the question that popped into mind,
Or is X the component I never will find.
I tore apart the skin for my knife was quite dull,
and yet deep enough surely
for life soon poured out.
and marveled in trails
and in pools and lights,
As the ER team pulled at my life late at night.

So they fought very hard, I should give them their due,
though it wasn't my plan, just something to do,
see, Its not like I cared for my death or for life,
I just need X to continue to fight.
So knights in white satin, or princess and queen,
they now all attend to me,
pumping my heart.
The fuss and they moan,
and I shake and I dream,
And I try not to fight them, their motive in part.

Then lightning it came, and X = hope,
and Y was hope sacrificed, raised in my heart,
though my mind added Chaos, it governed by prayer,
to a god that I now knew had always been there.
And slowly my brain cleared of it's current season,
It washed out, and turned on,
and opened it's eyes.
And no one was following, bent on destruction,
just my love there, with tears in her eyes.

So another week passes, seems funny but not,
That my entire life flows in seasons of X.
That waking up slowly, to this day or that,
That one's never sure of who one will be next.

darkness allows for silent tears

darkness allows for silent tears
and time hungrily consumes the years
as worry fuels the steadfast fear
and death smells sweet and walks ever near.

a constant shadow, calls to the soul,
a blackness, soothing and cool to the touch
a nothingness, painless deceiving and vile,
the evil is easy and fast overlooked.

the hook, is release from the minutes and hours,
the days and the weeks, the black thorny flowers,
that planted in part in my heart and my soul,
as black as the night and as hard as the coal.

like a cancer it grows, and consumes and it kills,
and there's nothing it seems that will alter its path,
so i lay my head down, and i wait there until,
the blade fast will fall, and will send me to hell.

Today I Would Have Died

R krabbe

darkness,

sitting in the glow of my window,

the portal to the digital world,

that gives not a single care for my difficulties.

it cares only for the smallest subtleties,

the input from my fast failing mind.

the part of me that lay in crumbs

on the pathway i leave behind.

emptiness,

like a blackness in the center,

it cries out within me, as it can't be reached,

and those who try, find destiny takes them further still away,

arms outstretched, my painful desire to be touched in spirit,

and yet my cry will go into the blackness, none will hear it,

for I reside in a place that in death, will pain lay down,

and only then will find it's eternal crown.

hope,

I will reverse my steps

and find my way back here again,

someday, to fill in the pieces,

like a sad puzzle but to assemble there,

in the soft light of my window,

where hours met the languish of my heart and soul,

and neither thought between them they could be made whole.

love,

offered me without a price,

given free by many who would like confess,

that even though my companionship leaves much to want,

the gift is neither withdrawn nor less from such as this,

but more instead, somehow, and though I stand in awe,

that even one could then profess such love for me,

That I could not repay in all eternity.

God,

who blesses me, and I who deserve not his soothing hand,

his mercy given long before my sinful heart strays from the mark,

who wants me home, though long I stray from him and seek my selfish wants,

who waits and patiently hopes for me to choose to return.

who takes me in,

who comforts me even when I can't feel it,

who holds me in his arms

even when I think I'm alone in the universe

who eases the gun from my trembling hand

who straightens the steering wheel within my grasp

who cries the tears that fall from my face

who, deep in pain, utters the sound my soul has cried,

who says no, flatly,

when I want to take my end in my own hand

and I cry again,

for I know that today I would have died.

Insistence

R krabbe

Cheerless, tristful, stories of the deaths of kings,

The very wings of reason, lift not my drowsy flagging soul.

Dispiriting, wistful, more I'm left to lament,

The things that mortal hearts doth long extol.

Near at hand, the wise shall set down shield and sword,

Yet sword romanced and ta`en as bride to life's final end.

Fancy this, that kindness kills as quick, it's sovereign lord,

Fantasized, for many nights, and wants my sleepless friend.

The cost, what knows you stand and fill the pottery full,

The sands, and ash of constancy, cold and unchanging fire,

The body burned and poured into the vessel there,

With sprightly fire and motion touch that which we admire.

Thus the soul, burns, never consumed yet deeply vital pain.

The heart, cast into the lake of empty, rich yet tortured aware,

The mind, lost in a maze and a chasing of the dessert wind,

So, then lays upon the bed of his desire, and recline upon his despair.

Yet never has the option haunted as now when taken away,

The pain of knowing full that death is denied the man of God,

Man yes, but God, does he truly know this misspent life?

And does he truly insist that it go on?

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The Pairs Of Eyes

Baby, we’ve just begun.

Rob Krabbe © 2003

Today I Would Have Died

Insistence