Black Poem by Quintin van Deventer

Black vacuum in my sorrow,
suck me in as if air,
to fight, is futile,
ever large, ever present.
 
Black clown in my paranoia,
toys with me as if mad,
fill my senses with electricity,
to catch him, impossible.
 
Black general in my rage,
poisons my blood with filth,
fills my veins with kerosene,
blinding resentment accumulates.
 
Black orchestra in my madness,
fills my ears with deafening pain,
distorts the filters through which I see,
deeping wedge in my foundations.
 
Black Satan in my life,
grounds me by his immense gravity,
chained like a dog by the neck,
amputate the life i've been given.
 
Chilling grip they have,
after all it’s my light they fear.