Darker Than It Was Before
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Darker Than It Was Before

 James Babbs
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 James Babbs
Darker Than It Was Before
by James Babbs  FollowFollow
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James Babbs is a writer, a dreamer, a three-time loser and an all-around nice guy who just wants to be left alone. James is the author of Disturbing...read more The Light(2013) & The Weight of Invisible Things(2013) and has hundreds of poems and a few short stories scattered all over the internet.
Darker Than It Was Before
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I know about madness
the weight of sunlight
pressed against my skin
the feeling of madness
when I’ve been drinking
and I stagger around with it
leaning next to me
in the middle of the crowded bar
everyone talking about madness
but nobody listens anymore
and outside
the night falling
darker than it was before
and I remember the suicides
discovering them
slumped over in the front seats of cars
the engines still running
and the dark garages
where the air felt damp and warm
something invisible
pushing me past the walls of this room
past the houses and the trees
past the well-kept fields
and the lonely country roads
turning into dead-ends
past all the unknown towns
and the children playing in the streets
past the killings I hear about
sometimes on the news
past beauty choked with emptiness
past all of her smoldering looks
and the sound of her laughter
when she told me no
past the endless rejections
and the apologies they try to make
when they say
we’re sorry
we can’t use your work at this time
but please send us some more
past the loneliness
and the misunderstandings
past the dimly-lit hallways
and the rusted screen doors
past the countless regrets
and the broken dreams
scattered on dirty floors
past sex and death and fear
past my own tired thoughts
and the pain before I awaken
and the birds singing
outside my window
the birds singing
in the morning light
the birds singing
the birds
singing

3 comments

Discussion

  2 months ago
Great poem. Fave line: we’re sorry
we can’t use your work at this time
but please send us some more
  2 months ago
It gets better with each reading as all good poems should.
  3 years ago
Cool poem, sometimes an owl sits in the four story pine tree outside my window and hoots in the very early morning. I listen for it now like it is something I need to hear sometimes.
 

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