You’ve seen its dark reflection, a thing of impenetrable night.
Logically implacable, and implicitly sincere.
Slick and murky, obscured and contained within the body.
It lies dormant, but buoyant.
Filling the void with a ghoulish dread, and unquenchable doubt.
Breathless from the depth, and the weight of its own words.
Truth be told, it is a turn-of-phrase, out-of-turn and out-of-line.
Pound-for-pound, verb-for-verb, ad infinitum.
The Dark Night of the Soul
Published
The Philosopher's Poet 