The dark circle of mourning

Lonely and empty 
I walk alone
in the ebony depths 
of the great unknown
where my ghosts and I meet
from time to time
in a hidden place
a place where my blank pages
are suddenly filled 
with chapters and verse 
that I have never read
 
we whisper to one another
as if connected
and a part of something 
of substance
but it is nothing
nothing but a mirage
a fallacy, a fantasy
for my ghosts and I
we are unaware
that it is just a game
a brief interlude
a façade of bricks and mortar
built upon shifting sands
a pretence 
that makes no sense
an ancient ritual
invoked by a higher power

the past painted anew
by an unseen hand
carefully orchestrated
to appear in the moment
the very moment 
before the fall
before once again
it all comes crashing down
my hopes destroyed
over and over
and the dark cycle of mourning
begins again
my heart broken
and broken again

and then the book opens
on page one
each chapter starts over
brief moments of Déjà vu
that between each breath
feel reachable 
the only relief
for my ghosts and I
our shared illusions
that I buried deep 
beneath the broken parts of me
safely held 
in gentle custody

until the moon 
completes another cycle
and my ghosts and I 
and all that was once lost
again embrace the night
oblivious
we meet 
from time to time
in a hidden place
a place where my blank pages
are suddenly filled 
with chapters and verse 
that I have never read

© Ann Bagnall