…of endless night

There was a time when poetry
was both my friend
and my enemy
words captured
from the darkness within
wound and woven
into beauty and light
unreleased and turning
in perfect circles
like long abandoned satellites
around a planet
planted shore to shore
with the seeds of my inferiority

voiceless ethers
filled the abyss
with the perfect silence
of paralysis
and my creations died
in the atmosphere
before they could ever be born
echoing deep
from their banishment
in the rolling oceans
of my mind
my words would ebb and flow
with the restless tides of my life

rising from the depths
only to be dragged
back into darkness
by the sibilant shadows
of indecision
and the whispered warnings
of imperfection
they circled my soul
like birds of prey
whose constant shrieking
became all I could hear
howling winds
from their beating wings
tore the trembling remains
of my confidence away

like a winter wind
stripping the last leaves
from a cold and vulnerable tree
whose emptiness
was now displayed against the sky
in stark reality
all I could think was:
‘this is me, this tree is the me
that I will become
naked and exposed
in all my mediocrity
and spring is too far away
to comprehend
and winter
will be long and cruel again’

trembling and turning inwards
I recalled other winters
where like a squirrel
I buried my precious words
in darkness
keeping them just for myself
out of my sight
but not out of my reach
thinking
that I would never be hungry
and that I could last
the winter in solitude
in the quiet rooms
within my empty walls

only to find
that silence was louder
in emptiness
and that my hunger
overwhelmed me
as I sat on my precious
creations
like a bird sits upon an egg
never to hatch
into a chick that could fly
into the beautiful sky
spreading its wings
sharing the light
with the fragrant petals
and the bright butterflies

languishing in the cold
and the dark
and in the crowded halls
of hollow
I remained voiceless
lifeless and drifting
with the crumbling leaves
of my sorrow
like that unhatched bird
my voice would never be heard
my heart was bleeding ink
filling my winding rivers of pain

my sorrowful melodies
endlessly flowed
carving their way
through the dark caverns
of my soul
becoming a constantly
weeping refrain
slow drums
beating from afar
kept time
with my sobbing heart
an awakening
a rising dawn
a blooming of colour
and light from the dark

calling to me
from the distance
the words
I had left unspoken
once dead
and decomposing
now rising
like the phoenix
from the ashes of me
words that deserve
to be given a voice
their plumage rich
in the vibrant reds
of my desire
intertwined
with the ebony and gold
of my soul

aching to fly away
on their blue dappled wings
my words
once rendered silent
now freed
from the hours
of endless night
finally bringing themselves
back to life
flashing fire from their eyes
as they take to the skies
touched
with the sun’s own light
© Ann Bagnall