…from the darkness

My sorrow calls hollow from the darkness
my driftwood dreams floating upon a slow ebbing tide
waterlogged and heavy drawn to the depths below
although I once searched for the truth
I now find that it was there all along
in those feather light moments
bereft of anything of substance, embodied in the silence
in the absence of questions and in the mute refusal of answers
embodied in the emptiness
between the parting of the day and the listless falling night
where my sorrow whispers to me from the depths of the abyss
and I am falling, eyes wide open
breaking into pieces like brittle leaves
trailing their ghostly silhouettes into the echoing, imperfect hush
truth and illusions colliding
all my questions, now crumbled to dust
© Ann Bagnall