When I write of the dark now, the enfolding, the pouring in of midnight, I’m not referring to evil, the seeking to destroy, the choking of our humanity, with talons extended,
or even of the darkness of our anointed narcissist, screaming so sadly of his insanity, supported by the prayers of some of the faithful, often confused, and sometimes worse…
no, I write of that dark comfort, stillness enfolding into us, like twilight wrapping us, holding us,
a silence of the heart…where we sometimes go, where stars live….still clinging to the night, watching over us,
over the deepest parts of us….causing even our scars to bow down, hoping for release,
like when birds awaken, praying, fighting sleep, to greet the dawn. It’s OK to go quiet during the rebirth of wings,
instead of leaving our spirits shredded, left in ruins. We don’t have to accept ourselves wearing a reality of dark wings trembling.
We do know the way, don’t we?
Poem, and Image, Copyright © 2020 ancient skies