A Little Bit Of Darkness Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

It had gone dark in my world.
An invisible sadness, one of substance
drifted in, from a horizon so far
and so unknown to me,
yet it sought me, only me
touching my skin with
those underworld sounds,
those that we don't seem to,
or want to, understand
and acknowledge.
Though still standing,
my head was firmly
and perhaps cowardly
pulled in between sagging
and defensive shoulders.
Eyes closed,
ears perked,
hackles up,
abdominals taut,
fidgeting for courage.
Like a missile of fog,
of odourless, colourless
but noisy and palpable
condensation, yellow a bit,
but mostly white, a most
unsuitable hue off from
the rainbow of her.
Yes, it was her rainbow,
and her substance,
she has now,
after some time
of mourning
become a Hoverer,
or is it Hoveress,
being there, at all,
including the most
inconvenient times,
looking down,
with an expression
known not to me,
but no raindrops
have fallen
and the breeze
continues to breathe
softly and silently.
Purple it is,
this haze
and the violets
with only their petals,
all green leaves gone,
torn off
or whithered,
petals intact
and pulsating
they are.
For others,
for Gods,
for lovers
and for those
who, by way of merit,
and by their nature
do not earn
but own,
the trust and the
sweaty hand
of this thing
this unicum
called love.
And perhaps,
or inevitably,
the fog,
which has the ambience
of cobwebs,
crafted by
the spiders of
human strugglings,
traps that catch
nothing but hot air,
in stinging puffs,
and that can't snap,
can't provide due to
their utter uselessness
perhaps it will,
like a bad smell
remain for a time,
all the while
labouring to engrave,
to etch itself into
my soul, with a vengeance,
as it senses its mortality,
and wants to survive,
hopeless, unhelpful,
disturbingly real.
Yet it stays,
only governed
by its own rules,
by its innate logic,
received from Gods
who hold the strings
of us puppets,
wiggling them,
tugging,
for their own purposes,
mostly to while away
a heavenly boredom.
Oh, do I wish
that my ears could hear,
my eyes could see,
and my heart would,
just this once,
tell me, reveal to me
what it feels,
what it knows,
and what it beats for.
I hope and pray,
that it is,
after all
is said and done,
for me.
Which, in the end,
it must be.