Lights lights lights lights lights
Artificial lights
Naked under salon lights
Emptiness of strobe lights
Lamp-light thick and penetrating presses against the eyes
Sun-light undresses and entombs bodies
Vast factory lights utterly hollow, long and distant and distracted
Skinny beam of torch-light always searching never satisfied
Lights to tell us we are allowed to move
Mysterious red laser death
Headlights probing granite, stone graves
Light most wholesome is morgue light – not because of the glow, but true flesh,
pale and indistinct, gaunt silent figures laid to rest on metal table, and then filed
away, labelled, numbered, to await final cataloguing
Light most final is darkness, heavy, invading, brooding, complete
No light like darkness
No darkness like forever
This poem i wrote one lonely night in a strange motel room a few weeks ago. I hope you will read and comment