Darkness and Dirty Diners and the Midnight Host Serving Up Death as the Poetry Weeps Into Its Day Old Coffee, Cold as a Corpse These dense and hollow bones and bland flesh that you’ve gifted me are as empty as the silence within words without teeth, and limp as the thin blue veins sucked…
To bleed
is necessary in order to feel, to feed the soil of the soul that hungers for immortality or simply the hope, the idea that we are more than this these bones these ghosts sowing seeds of surrender inside of the light for a better understanding of the darkness that breeds, grows In deaths womb new…
Blue smoke,
dark ghosts neither entering nor leaving only lingering in the swirling gray thoughts that hold them somewhere between sorrow and hope ©Debbie Berk
The Shadow Keeper
I am the keeper of shadows and their secrets that speak sharply and softly like the bitter sweet poetry flowing in the accumulation of tears Existing alongside their ghosts that leave me haunted by their words gathered and scattered like wounded thoughts, like scars star shaped and wished upon under the moonlight of these ravished…
Kill The Messenger is now available
Kill The Messenger, an insomniac’s collection of darkness, defiance, questioning and counting losses, dissecting dreams, battling depression and the memories that sting like madness, like rage that leaves deep wounds in the heart of love marred by the scars lingering like bitter obsessions, like hope, like sorrow waking to survival, life in spite of the…
December’s Ghost
as I enter the small death of winter, slip into the darkness of its aging, aching skin I find that those memories of long ago days remain, lingering still, somewhere in the shadowy corners of these dust covered dreams buried where my darkest secrets are kept in the growing distances I keep as close…
Ghost Children and the Haunted River
Tiny creatures, eerie and child like visit me in the nights I am sleepless playing games of hide and seek under my eyelids where in half dreams I see them watching with their over sized heads the shape of rotting melons and their sunken in eyes, hard, endless dark pits of decaying innocence taunting me…
Ghost
Dark curtains parted just enough to let light in just enough to welcome home those long lost shadows lonely and restless as my own ©Debbie Berk
