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By The Door

March 25, 2012

Waking By The Door

Often when I wake I find

That Darkness still reigns over Light

And that I am standing at the door

Blankly staring into the womb of Night.

My hand is gripping the trigger

Marbled flesh of alabaster hue

Transformed to stone, devoid of warmth

Was I leaving behind the artifice of You?

Am I escaping from that which is

Or quietly delivering myself to what may be?

Seeking the source of my Soul’s song or

Hiding my heart from the hurts yet to be?

You see, dreams are given hope,

Starlit wings of ephemeral flight

By the source of all our tomorrows

The chill embrace of Mother Night.

And when Light returns to rule

Its warmth suffusing its subjects below

Dreams, so often but whisper born,

Are robbed of life, not allowed to grow.

You remember not the songs from slumber

As the Day begins to set your path anew

Separating you from the blissful touch

Of promises that on sighing wings once flew.

You see, if you wish to kill what may be

You need only turn to the Light

But beware for oft it is sadly true,

Blessed are those not cursed with Sight.

For seeing what is may lead to Truth

Oh perfect thing that I never may hold

But Darkness lends hope beyond my reach

Sustaining strength of what I may yet behold.



From → Poetry

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