…like a cloak

My destruction has begun
the pages of the book of endings
relentlessly turned by an unseen hand
there is a deep, dark beauty unravelling
under the watchful eyes of the distant stars
though light years away, the brushstrokes of their art
sing like a lullaby, to faraway broken hearts
even the birds are unseen and silent
in the presence of this ethereal symphony
although the clock is ticking, time no longer has meaning
I am suspended in the moment
my body frozen in sleep paralysis, invisible and voiceless
I am an anonymous participant in my own downfall
already a ghost haunting my own past, searching for redemption
trying to understand how devastation can be so gentle
almost soothing, unable to comprehend my own racing thoughts
incongruous with the calm in my heart
and the blood still flowing like lazy rivers through my veins
memories are now flooding in
the soft touch of translucent shadows, the pale echoes of the past
that unexpectedly persevere, like blossoms that linger
long after their colours have faded
promises made, promises broken, illusions versus delusions
the brittle threads of hope
finally turning away
I wear the darkness like a cloak
© Ann Bagnall