…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