Bright Darkness

As much as I want to be

a Bright Person,

sing in yellow, white and green,

flit freely without a care through my days,

I was delivered into melancholy.


Stunning grief

lifts the curtain

on such brightness,

and we see behind the sun

the vast dark universe:

more comfort as it holds all things,

but dark and lonely nonetheless.

So I love dark and lonely,

as it is what endures.


Bright companionship will have its day,

Separation its night.

And Mourning wears a veil

for in that place

all is black.


What colour is a moan?

Dark clouds engulf,

slate sheets over the land

into my soul,

wrapped like Isis

in stars.


We are not flowers,

rooted in warm earth.

We cannot live

on sun and rain

alone.


We grow beyond our gardens,

and hurt each other there.


Even the sweetest of lives

must be blind not to see

by day.


Read it,

for it is written:

Day is not so bright.

Day is the illusion

given by the sun

to our

little world.

Light is Life,

but Life is not light.


Darkness abounds

surrounds

invades our corners.

And so I,

for one,

find comfort there.


And am not an early riser.

february 2010

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