…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
the sand still beneath
where gone is the sky and the sun and the stars
and 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