…as one with the shadows

The spirits
of the dead
are whispering
as the songs
of wind and sea
call softly to me
the theatre of the stars
and the solitude
of the heavens
are cold and distant
above me

yet I linger here
alone and shivering
in this beautiful frost
lost in the finding
of a remembrance
that lies deeply buried
like still waters
where in the shadows
I am invisible

drifting aimless
and my colours
my black colours
are flowing
I am empty
void of tears
void of pain
void of memories
a shadow
amongst shadows
unnoticed
unseen

out there
somewhere in the hush
the echoes of footsteps
are bleeding
into the distance
breaths held
for long seconds
I am aching
waiting
for the returning

in my heart
a door opens
a door closes
in absolute silence
in its place
a silken darkness
rendered tangible
yet still unreachable
absent of even
the
slimmest
sliver
of
light

broken
and bleeding
I cannot find
what I am needing
you left me
and now clutching
for the remnants
of power
in a moment
of reciprocal wounding
I will leave you back
the futility
of this act
is not lost to me
but I am not ready
to see the reality

I cannot be moved
just as a seashell
anchors itself
to the sand
in an effort to avoid
the inevitable
to withstand
the relentless pull
of the sea
only to find itself
shifting in the dark
and the depths
sand still beneath

where gone is the sky
and the sun and the stars
even the moon
is absent
in this drowning place
now I find myself here
where I lost myself
just another shell
abandoned
to the wrath of the tides

hopeless of rescue
I take a breath
and then another
the spirits of the dead
now comfort me
and the frost
is melting
into new rivers
that carry away
my pain and my misery
time is moving again
and the tides
still ebb and flow

now my colours
my black colours
have circled
back to me
together again
my colours and I
as one with the shadows
are now servants
of the night

© Ann Bagnall