Today it was different.

Today I looked upon the words of madness,

those words that tore me open

and burned off my hope,

that all too tiny sliver of hope.

I read their words,

meaningless drabble to occupy their simple minds,

nothing written down,

why do they write?

No one can listen,

for no one knows how,

no one knows their language.

Why did they have to say nothing?

Today it was different

because I saw what is old,

and in it,

my future,

my place,

the path to my world.

It is there I must go,

though lunacy be the price,

and silence the foe,

to that place shall I return,

alone and sad,

yet to all my secret beauties,

to a world where everything fascinates,

where magic is air,

and everything is heaven and hell,

perfect yet perfectly painful,

where no one speaks

and I can listen

to words that are beyond words.

Nothing written down,

yet I can see the letters,

beautiful secrets I love,

where hope is drowned in tranquility,

the peace of comforting sadness.

Peace that will tear me open.

Tomorrow will be different.

Tomorrow will be…



July 7, 1997


3 responses to “Difference

  • Holistic Wayfarer


    I like the opening.

    “that all too tiny sliver of hope.”
    Sounds like prose to me, the first three words. I think any article would weaken it. Sliver also connotes smallness. A simple “sliver of hope” might be more effective. But others — and you — well might disagree.

    I almost included the abused ellipsis in the Let the Clichés R.I.P. post. But it is just right in your ending.

    • dtdeedge

      No, I don’t necessarily disagree. Your comments fall along the lines of brevity, again. I think there is a much more elegant expression to be made than I have done with that sentence. I think that my meaning doesn’t come across (or didn’t, as this was written ~20 years ago).

      The ellipsis is cliche. Even here, it is. The only reason I kept it was because an ambiguity that struck me as I was typing this. I am not certain if the ending of the poem is the ellipsis, or if the date at the end actually follows. That is, maybe tomorrow will be July 7, 1997, and I wrote this on the evening of the 6th? There is a profundity to me in that ambiguity, and I like to imagine that it is a small gift I made for myself so many years ago. It’s a riddle, and I have a feeling I meant it to have the dual meaning. If so, I am quite pleased at my former self’s cleverness.

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