sometimes, late at night
i lie awake, or sit, or even dance
i do not "sleep"
i might drowse, or snooze,
but only temporary reprive-
The Dark
holds its monsters and
pattering, clawed steps
outside of my candlelit chambers
and beyond the fragile makebelieve walls
of my lurking consciousness-
light a candle.
burn the Night.
Smolder your eyes upon the smoke
banish my fears, faint light-
but do not destroy my peace-
morning Light, cast not your hands over
this black scry-stone!
Look but so gently into the Dark's swirling
and staring stars
down upon a ritual laid bare-
agate eyes upon the crown
upon the head of the young Oracle
a story for another time, a
prayer for a beating heart
in another place,
another darkened midnight womb
or perhaps an obsidian tomb--.
fill a chalice and not a mind
tip the contents to then find
a wandering flame spread to the wind
devouring those violent souls that have sinned
as such, topics change like Gaia
dear, as such my mind roams when
I cower in fear--.
in the imaginary arms of a
man I love, the one who can't be near.
Night sings a quiet song of insane
love and gentle terror, a soft-soft
sound that rings eternal
and lulls its listener not to sleep
but into a spell that gathers deep
within the core of the mind
behind the third,
before the eye,
but loud and deafening guilt
that keeps the shade-drawn witch
awake, and the quivering fear
racing in their youthful heart--.
Ladle the light of the stars above
into the cupped hands tonight
and sing the damnation back
to the groping clouds
on the black horizon, the violet and
blue and grey and white
swirling in cohesion and roaring into a wave of
conscious nightmares
i cannot deal with these thoughts
on my mind, resting upon
my heart
my eyes
my mind
my very soul.
-the greybird