Embers 2.0

[Mattp]

OK, so this is such a departure from the original that I hesitate to label it as the same poem. It came from the same place though, so here it goes:


These corridors carry their own kind of silence;
an old silence;
which pushes and receeds and in its wake
men break to shards and fall into the fluidity of their cognition;
and ward-weathered doctors try to put the pieces back together
into some semblance of nature;

here muted-stubborn echos
breathe fantasy in the ears of any so lost as to listen,
and sing men to sleep in their chemical womb;

in these hallways the lights turn out one at a time.



The original:

3:00 AM
too tired to know what raised me
these hallways carry a different kind of silence
an old silence
a last vestige of those who have gone before
in the corridors of the mad

she was lost in a skewed space
he would follow, but for now
she was half dream, half ethereal
far too distant for me
to see past distant eyes,

then another, my feet were cold, his eyes
were embers
an evil as ancient
as the spawning of Gods,
and I sleep