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Isn’t it good to be
acquainted with darkness,
to caress it gently, to slit its throat,
to know the hidden pockets,
caves and grottos
of the mirrored landscape,
to catch a glimpse of black majesty,
to know there’s more horror
to this existence
than anyone could ever know,
standing in the shadow of our own?

Isn’t it beautiful to live and die alone,
to carve a path out of unyielding stone
between the crushing narrow divide
of the war of two tribes steeped
in a hate so narrow and deep
it leaves two inches of earth on either side
to save you from the final breath-taking fall
into a deep hush
–a silence so profound that your ears run
and melt with the deafening sound?