The Darkness Does Not Care

The Darkness does not care.

Not for beating heart nor clenching fists,

Nor bravado's words and empty wit,

Nor care at all what I think of it.

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The darkness does not know

That I've been loved and love returned,

Had passions like sun's fire burn,

Nor what I have or have not earned.

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The darkness does not say

A single word, they're all my own

And all my pain, it is home-grown.

My damning fists strike every blow.

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The darkness does not die.

For only living things can pass,

And life is what no darkness has,

Though it consumes all life left in its path.

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I know these things, know many more,

Could host a talk on darkness lore,

Could write the book and teach the class,

Have said, myself, "This too shall pass."

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But darkness does not care.

Though like fire, dark can seem alive,

Can seem to feed on hope and drive,

It's just an ironic fact of life.