Crowblack Night

by Chantal

I read this poem today by a friend of mine and thought it was wonderfully emotive in its confessional and obsessive nature. I don’t know much about writing or poetry at all but I found the nakedness and vulnerability in this very beautiful.

Crowblack Night

A surge in me tonight,
a push of passion and hunger
glimpsed again worthy cause.
.
It stuck in me, blocked
the first retch of a violent purge
a warning, my bird ideas scatter.
.
Leaves me pathetic, failed and useless,
yet feeds my fears fat till they soar,
a joke, a cliche, a no one, nothing.
.
The failure must be the repetition, the lack of learning
I know this road every crack and I trip,
a clown at the first.
.
Nothing cool will do, nothing light, no sneering quip.
Something dark, drawn from me, unashamed
for I am one for a grand gesture.
Stories.
.
A stolen moment as lovers walk softly
through the orchard at midnight
magnetic pull
.
Urgent and inescapable guilt,
there is truth in it, god sized,
imbued with an inky blackness.
A secret squirms beneath all our skins.
.
She is writing lines. Trust and relief.
Released.
Pounding and living.
The trivial blurs. They mistake administration for living,
she knows better.
.
In the dark with his silk and satin
no mirror glare or sun to reveal
he is beautiful, exquisite, false.
.
Please break your promise
and let me bathe in the milky hurt.
Toy with my heart,
let its’ artist weep from me.
.
She soothed me tonight,
saved me from pain.
Rubbed my back until the retching had waned.