Color of Darkness

　　O Death, tell us of that, of the great beyond, about which man entertain doubt

　　It has all seemed a little lot like Earth up until now,

　　whether dreams or memories or the same faces.

　　But this isn`t the familiar anymore. I hang in the black

　　of something far more ancient than night, deeper

　　than lava veins and earthquake plates left from when ourStolen novel; please report.

　　patch of home was born in vibrant, sizzling flame fire.

　　This darkness must be the rim of outer space,

　　beyond the birth and death of cycling suns and stars.

　　And although I could sink and settle into the

　　comfort of velvet blackness and wait for my call,

　　my waltz across the floor, my knock at the door,

　　I can`t help but storm through this stage like

　　Queen Katrina, shouting out my lines like King Henry

　　or Hamlet or the man who killed the old king.

　　Every line hooks upwards like a fishing line—

　　I am waiting for Jonah`s whale to swallow

　　my heart, just to stretch out my fingers

　　and tap the fluttering comets that trail

　　behind the cosmic clothes of God.