…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