Wednesday, October 19, 2011


Its in the darkness it comes to visit, slithering
its whispers around the night sounds,
the tiny hum of street lamps numbs
my ears as I sit and listen and hear the whispers. Eyes hung heavy deep inside my head painting the round dark rings I can no longer see when the darkness has washed all over me.  The cool midnight breeze from my opened window slices past my face and with it brings the whispers.  I sit calmly and without worry staring ahead from my heavy leather chair,
arms hung over and head hung forward
but my eyes stare ahead.
Nothing moves inside this night nothing except the spattered beauty of red lines,
slowly painting their trail of final absolution rolling downward unto the floor. The whispers talk amongst the shadows and among the trees outside my window the eyes peer in to look in at me.
All I only have is this wall of defiant beauty and that body that painted it for me.
-Armando Torres