Sunday, January 10, 2016


In the darkest portion of my soul is a window pane
where only a skeletal bone scrapes the unlit glass.
The scree noise of the ever present, but sometimes silent thing,
brings back howling haunts of memory that never flee,
experienced life never tracked back behind me.
It taps and runs, this bony finger, on the glass.

The many fearsome long drawn out fights to escape
from the too short day to the longer night
growing a’lays darker with the fading of the light.
While the mind wanders in the midst of sleepless obscurity.
Every tap, every scrape sound triggers memory
of every blow ever struck, every piercing given by the hand of me.

Experiences with their fearsome memory, warming, comfort me,
blanket my soul for having stood alone, a human being.
Living again in the silent spaces, save the scraping noise in my mind.
Bracing for the assault memories that once were walled, blocked,
that come rushing in torrents of destruction trying to flood me with ruin of regret
to find the times for all that might have been, could have been but went unseen.

Hold back, hold back a while more says I, I fought, I warred
against the many layered hatreds lying wait deep inside of me.
For what cause do I fall into the room where in me is the evil,
the putrid smell of deadly gloom. No good can come of it,
no worthy effort shall ever arise as I remember, every drunk
long punched out cry calling from the wasted year gone bye.

I will no regret; for times and days turned to nights,
for blood spilled or men killed not slain by my hand
but my words which struck out in ferocity with deadly accuracy.
Aye there is the pen and then the sword
but first of all comes the thought, then the words.
Making the killing so much easier in the feral night.

What does it mean, this place of hatreds inside of me?
Nothing except I am still a living normal human being.

© M Durfee


  1. Hell yeah you fought. I fought too. And do not regret what was cause I fear I would be much less the wiser should it have been smooth sailing all along. I stand before you filled with darkness and with light, and I have no hesitation in accepting that in you, and in you, and in you too.

  2. Cynical, but that's what I like about you. An unflinching ability to look into the soul and say, "Meh. It's fine"

  3. You chose words and images with power. Very nice. I thought, when I saw your title, I was going to get your rant about the cold outside.

  4. Between the howling wind and Freud's death instinct, "two riders was approaching . . ."

    Happy Twenty Sixteen, Mark ~ ~ !

  5. Winter and middle age.

    If you need me, I'll be in the bath tub.

    Greetings from an ice-cold Minneapolis,


  6. Fighting "the place of hatreds" myself... yet I recognize that the place is also a reaction to the hate I see in others. Still, adding my own hatred to the pile does not make it any less abhorrent.

  7. I like it a lot, the linking between thought and action and emotion, the summation that this is all of us, in one way or another.

  8. Mark, I too, though you were gonna bitch about our weather. You ARE as human oas the rest of us. x


So Walking Man I was thinking...