…now seem to be here to stay

These black days
now seem to be here to stay
as the seasons change
and the light fades away
shades of grey
upon shades of grey
and in my heart
it is becoming dark
as the snow falls
and the ice settles within
and the grey
the grey is fading away

now the black
the black is flooding in
like dark ink from a quill
wielded like a sword
in an unseen hand
exquisitely filling
every corner of the land
with its shimmering sorrowful silk
tightly closed
like a rosebud refusing to bloom
my dreams too
are painted in shades of black
formed of memories
of things that I do not recall

yet I know they are memories
and that they are mine
a dichotomy of sorts
where the unremembered
is insignificant
yet the unknown
the unknown fills me with a fear
that I cannot contain
in this black night
this black time
I am unable to tell the walls
from the doors
the ceilings, from the floors

I do not know
if I am in or out, up or down
if day is day, or night is night
until the walls begin to fall
crumbling to dust, inch by inch
towards the floor
or is it the ceiling?
the crumbling walls swept up
by the errant breeze
now drifting, out the door

or perhaps it is the windows
through which the walls escape?
in the depths
of my inked existence
I have lost sight of the windows
as I have lost sight of the doors
and I ache for those portals
back to reality
I have searched for them
with my unseeing eyes

so as the walls
are making their escape
windows or doors
do not matter anymore
all that remains, is the truth of it all
in the depths of this darkness
in the ripples of this ink
there comes a light
a sliver, through a chink
whether window or door
all that matters is the floor

the floor or the ceiling
that carries the crumbling walls
to where the deep wells of darkness
and the rivers of ink
are unable to follow
into the light, beyond the chink
this realisation
pulls me back from the brink

my crumbling self
like the crumbling walls
can make its escape
from the darkness to light
all that is needed
is that one glint of light
and the will to move forward
out of the night
© Ann Bagnall