Wayne McCullough

I abide stoic resolution to immaculate taste.
A hunters quiet and patient gaze peering into twilight.
I scan the horizon from lofty perch for my prey.
The small game comes and goes from my vision as, fleeting as a breeze rustling through the trees.
...

Visualize a silent scream and own it in your own soul.
This is how you can understand and empathize.
A scream of terror, a scream of malice, a scream of self realization.
I speak often of darkness that you cannot fathom, there are reasons why.
...

He growls, stirring in the dark, warning that he is still there.
I am aware, I do not wish to face him so I turn from his stare.
I have fought him for years, upon years, upon years.
The battlefield between us is like blackened earth, stained with destruction and tears.
...

It lurks within my psyche.

The creature just under the skin, how its talons rake against the inside of my mind.
...

I hear your dull buzzing, your insistence that I need you.
I hear your plead for escape, I hear your logic.
I hear nothing, for that is what you are.
be what you are, and leave me to my own devices.
...

A solitary wind sweeps past me, I gaze into a personal oblivion.
It chills my flesh but by now it has grown numb anyway,
I can no longer feel for the cold, I no longer pay it much mind.
Water I no longer understand freezes upon my face and is carried by the wind. I wonder in earnest why it was there to begin with.
...

In the world's dreams,
We still find our nightmare.
Dangling from our own self reflection,
Taciturn about our path.
...

I stare into the flame of passing twilight and see my path.
Transition brings forth new discovery, my eyes set upon the horizon.

The call of the water carrier fills my veins and a new beginning comes.
...

This is kind of a different poetry style I am not sure everyone will get that doesn't depend on a rhyming scheme, but I like it so I write that way a lot.

Inner thought, such power, such binding.
My darkness pours into your very soul.
...

Derangement, funny how it does not feel.
Confusion, funny how it seems clear.
Restlessness, funny how I stand calm.
I am not what you know.
...

And here unto time I do concede my resolution,
Tis not my hand that doth accept absolution.
I know that equilibrium of the soul will not be,
I live not in a time where that succeeds.
...