Fraud of Eternity

Editorial Review: The Fraud of Eternity​Source: Booksterr (5/5 Stars) — January 11, 2026​Darryl Houston Smith's collection The Fraud of Eternity demonstrates a haunting structural purpose from its very first pages. Dedicated "e;to winter,"e; the work utilizes rigid poetic forms to create a deliberate conflict of emotion against "e;the bars of a rigid meter."e; The result is a dramatic and stark view of suffering and humanity—one clearly influenced by the dark romanticism of Charles Baudelaire and the mythic weight of Jim Morrison.​Smith's writing is both philosophical and visceral. In "e;The Monolith,"e; he posits that "e;birth is merely the beginning of sin,"e; describing the earth as "e;a slaughterhouse for prayer where souls are dragged through centuries of slime."e; This somber view of existence permeates the collection, particularly in pieces like "e;Merrimack in Iron"e; and "e;Granite Teeth."e;​These poems establish a profound connection between abstract despair and the tangible reality of Lowell, Massachusetts. The "e;granite, river, and ice"e; of the Merrimack Valley exist here as both metaphor and physical entities that "e;command a specific type of silence."e; Walking through "e;Edson Cemetery (Sunday)"e; or witnessing the "e;drained out vein"e; of "e;Canal Water Blues,"e; the reader encounters a world of old mills feeding ghosts—a world almost conspiratorial in its decay.​The Fraud of Eternity masterfully examines the dualities of beauty and ruin. In "e;The Warmth of Hell,"e; Smith rejects the "e;empty blue"e; of the sky, opting instead for "e;furnaces and loam"e; where "e;hell blooms beneath the frost, a rooted home."e; The title poem, "e;The Dyad,"e; explores the necessary tension between two entities that "e;brace the weight of Fraud we cannot move,"e; finding strength in parallel existence rather than merging.​For those who appreciate the darker aspects of Symbolism and the harsh truths of the world, this is an unapologetic body of work. Smith rejects soft comfort in favor of a rigid, suffocating beauty. It is a mirror for the marrow, written for those who know that the only way out of the slaughterhouse is through it.