The Darkened Light - A collective

Instructions

-The Darkened Light - A collective of poems- (Please note that my style of these poems is sometimes dark, at worst, so please don't report them) POEM 1: It is locked. The thought echoes through your mind. Locked. You are alone. Alone, with only the Glass. The Glass, of which you see all—the countless moons, suns, and stars. It is an arrow, and it has pierced you. You. The simple thought. Yet so much meaning lies behind it. Behind, what lies beyond the Glass, the Eyeglass. You reach again. It is locked. You look back, you remember the brown door, the room barely large enough to contain you. The clock, the endless hands. Your hand reaches out again. The door swings open. POEM 2: They gazed, eyes stuck on what was and will never be. They didn't care about anything else, they had left it all behind, and it would never come back. It indulged them and they indulged it, their limbs and muscles only moving when told. The vacuum. Time was blood. The endless tears. This does not matter any more. Unheard by all, except the mesmerised. Mesmerised by what could have been and what lives have passed. Stars were eyes, and night had fallen. Watched. In Memoria. The unheard tears. POEM 3: I stand on the grassy, downtrodden bank, staring into the waters below, I gaze into my reflection and they gaze at me, rippling with every breath taken, In and out, in and out, They gaze into me and I gaze into them, separated only by a mirror, are they the reflection, or am I? Or is the reflection the one who is alive, the one who is human? If so, then what are we? In and out, in and out, I leap from the bank, sailing freely before being back on the ground, thudding on a small rock coated in bright moss, I ready and leap again, landing on another rock. I repeat this, over and over, air and ground, each time a different door opens, each time a different experience flashes past me, pushing me on, some are fearful and dark, while some are free and joyous, yet it does not change anything. In and out, in and out, Finally, I reach the other bank, the end of my Journey, one I know much too well. The final door opens and I am free. Free? Freedom is a lie, it will never be. Empty spaces will confine you, free you and end you. The fire blazes. The light burns. Without it, it is less dangerous. The undying. Memoria. POEM 4: The breath is taken, Passing from your blue-frosted lips, Your life is forsaken, Held close yet far, A life that could have been, But you will always be far, Far, far away, past the doors of Death, A dark, demanding vacuum, of lost breath, lost souls, None had gone so far, leapt over the last breath, Pushed free from the embrace of death, Where the Deer had leapt, Breath still pushing on and on. None had gone so far, pressed free of the weight to be left, None but the Deer, so brave, so bold, Who sailed through the air, Past the wall of souls, Ragged breaths emerge, Weighing you down, And yet, you continue, With one thought in mind, The Deer, so brave so bold, Who braved the darkness and the cold, With all odds in mind, you push back, The arms of Death, reaching out, The King on the checkerboard, Surrounded by all but a pawn of gold, The moment arises, the King is free, Or are they? The Pawn is there, the chance the King had is as dead as their final breath, Emerging, Ending the everlasting battle, Peace is here, With all there, a thought stays near, The Deer.