Dark Serenity

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Shall I step into the blackness?

The night’s touch is soft

It’s quiet;

The dark serenity afore the door of which I teeter before

Shall I step into the blackness?

Allow the void to consume me and wrap my body in its cold embrace.

That for my body . . .

What of my heart?

What transformation will it undergo in the dark screen hiding everything from my eyes?

Shall I step into the blackness?


Memories taunt me

Like a faded past, its colour drained by the sun

What do I do about these things attacking my mind?


The brain’s bric-a-bracs,

Stowed upon shelves I cannot reach.

Forever far away . . .

Are the moments I cherished

I caught in a web

Time the spider that keeps everything I desire away from me and dictates my end.


Can I break free?

Is time mine to dictate or will I forever be its servant?

But what do I do for it, but live?

What could it want of me?

What can I do for it?

Time . . .

Elusive with its answers

Yet I have only questions for it

Would its answers be too frightening to hear?

Is that why time is without a mouth?


I shudder to think . . .

What if my answers were too frightening for another to hear?

What if I were robbed of my mouth?

I wonder to think . . .

Are my words worth speaking?

Do my answers carry weight?

Would any seek my answers or refer to a sage for enlightenment?

An enlightening thought;

One’s importance.


We have one globe

We call it home

They say it is a small world

Is it so?

Or has our sense of self inflated disproportionately?

Where do we make our connection to home?

Is it in the soil or in our blood?

Is home a place we can see?

Should it be?

Is it important to see what we value?

Of what we value, when do we deem it materialism?

Must it be held to be hoarded?


My thoughts are a rampant hive

Organized chaos;

Ceaseless and without purpose, though always purposeful in the end

Constantly droning;

My mind

Crashing waves upon a drowned bed of sand

Trust to find your footing

But here I stand

Now . . .

Amidst the night

Lured by its soft touch

To the brink of dark serenity.


It’s quiet;

Before the door of which I teeter afore . . .

Shall I step into the blackness?

Submitted: April 16, 2018

© Copyright 2023 Jeff Bezaire. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:



Beautiful, Jeff. That darkness can be so inviting. Time as a spider -- a very unique thought.

Mon, April 16th, 2018 8:33pm


Thank you, Hully. I'm glad you enjoyed it. I had a hard time refining this one and I'm still not sure it's as good as I can get it. As for the poem you inspired me to complete last week, I'll be posting that one next week. :)

Mon, April 16th, 2018 1:58pm


How wonderful, Jeff.. your lines flow just so effortlessly, each one telling a tale, a story of their own. Brilliant work, my dear friend.

Mon, April 16th, 2018 10:45pm


Thank you most kindly, my dear! I've been fine-tuning this one for weeks now and I'm still not sure if it's "finished", but this is as complete as I'll get it for now. Thank you for your uplifting words. It's a good feeling when something you're unsure of is a hit. :)

Mon, April 16th, 2018 4:47pm

Calum Maclean

I have to say Jeff, this poem was amazing. Giving me a very Dylan Thomas vibe. Anyway just a quick thumbs up from Scotland!!!

Mon, April 16th, 2018 11:46pm


Thank you most kindly for your wonderful words!

Tue, April 17th, 2018 11:33am

Keke Serene

This poem certainly travels. At first I was actually reminded of Anatomy in the first stanza, with this idea of stepping into dark water.
The second stanza is certainly haunting. The idea that time is a spider, urgh, not a good feeling lol. Not only do I fear spiders but I feel like time haunts me, really. I'm afraid of wasting time. I know that time is the most important thing we have so we have to make the most of every day, but then part of me just knows that you have to stop by and steal the roses ;) - don't rush life. I also know that we're simply passing through as travelers to a better place so focusing simply on the now and future isn't useful. And the past lol.
The next stanza I kinda read once and felt unease. I've had a lot of that sort of speculation lately and not lately. 'I shudder to think-' alone is a fantastic line.
The next stanza kinda goes in a totally different direction. And I feel like it belongs in its own poem perhaps.
'Crashing waves upon a drowned bed of sand-' a beautiful line of imagery. A powerful line of imagery for me since your brain floats in cerebrospinal fluid, and I imagine the thoughts just coming in out of nowhere or floating in and out like a tide.
A nice poem this one is. :3

Tue, April 17th, 2018 12:19am


On Sunday, I may have crushed time with a couple of tissues. But it ensured it wouldn't build a web in my room. ;)
I know what you mean about the fear of wasting time. They say any kind of progress is good progress, but sometimes I worry that I'm not making enough progress fast enough. Life's not a running race, but with so many people doing their own thing and getting further in life, and with the clock always counting down, the pressure is more noticeable the older you get. Then there's the guilt I feel when I stop and . . . . steal . . . the roses. ;)
The stanza "My thoughts are a rampant hive" was influenced by the previous stanza and the fact that it does depart from the rest of the poem in a way, but still contributes to the overall piece. Hence, the line: "Ceaseless and without purpose, though always purposeful in the end". It's me being conscious that I deviated a bit. lol
Thank you very, very much, Keke-bear! You know, I was going through some old poems yesterday, deleting some of the older stuff, and I took the time to read through the comments, and boy, did we like to write back in those days! Not just you and me, but mostly you and me! hahaha!
Thank you always for sharing your words. :)

Tue, April 17th, 2018 11:23am

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