Dark is to light, as black to white.
When we write, from what place?
I wrote,
dwelling there,
amongst the shadows,
without face; leeching for love,
my cup empty,
heart scattered into pieces.
I write,
divinely guided;
exploring unclimbed mountains,
where weakness and courage elope,
advancing towards freedom,
My cup fills,
healing below the glimmers of hope.
I accept,
my world of black,
as it mends into white,
for I know, what is in the dark,
is to rise to meet light.
Jul 3, 2020
Jul 3, 2020 at 4:10 PM UTC
Dark is to light, as black to white.
When we write, from what place?
I wrote,
dwelling there,
amongst the shadows,
without face; leeching for love,
my cup empty,
heart scattered into pieces.
I write,
divinely guided;
exploring unclimbed mountains,
where weakness and courage elope,
advancing towards freedom,
My cup fills,
healing below the glimmers of hope.
I accept,
my world of black,
as it mends into white,
for I know, what is in the dark,
is to rise to meet light.
