before flesh presses against instrument
before graphite scrapes paper
i confront the black monolith
throbbing with music of power and paralysis
stumbling half stunned
seeking an archway, a passage, a door
a solution to maze of smothering ebony
it is the things i will not say
the places i will not go
the stories i will not tell
the dreams i refuse to ignite
every poem i have written
has a punctuation mark before the first word
sigil of success as i somehow
shut down the power generators
coward, face your fear!
prisoner, rise up! don't you know,
shame only binds with your permission?
if it were a simple trade in that coin, exchange
millimeter measurements of my personal dimensions
the codex of the secret language binding my dark nemesis
i am desperate enough for a poem of truth, even a disturbing one
to sign that paper with dripping red pen
some of these unwritten words,
do not belong to me
to make utterance from them
as evil as any act
done by angry hand
some things are silenced by love
sharing would leave the world astonished
at something they name brave, but pales
to love's courage which can never be observed or admired
then there are my dear companions
i know their names and stories well
the things i have done
the people i have been,
that i am trying
with all my soul and skin
to never be again
i will not with cleverness, wrap them in words
so they emerge from cocoon as gentle proverbs of beauty
they are buried, they are my humility and penance,
they can someday be confessed,
but always at my expense and never for my benefit
lurking nearly indistinguishable amidst all that
the things i simply do not see
it is mostly for the chance to catch
the moment when unknown becomes known
that i stare into the abyss
with pencil hovering over page
what light reveals
i bring beautiful or broken
with words i write
while marking another beauty
black letters on a pitch black background
with the words i will not write