A poem can find a dark soul at night
The rebirth I had after I sat with my plight
The demons I held onto and encompassed me with their wings
Spoke of wild, dark, and wicked things.
And I felt warm there
I felt raw
Like an ice sculpture exposed to the sun.
Slowly waiting to thaw.
Or a cocoon forgotten in winter,
Made it to spring
I climbed out of my cocoon when I put down that drink.
I spread my wings when I had enough,
Enough of men who used me to feel tough.
And I flew high above the clouds
Right before my death I looked right into my shadow.
And she said, “I’ll see you again”
“You’ve won this fight, but not the battle”
Clothed, I, in robes,
Sanctified by charcoal deities;
Widowed of this world,
And as yet unborn;
Mourn the galloping pulse,
Of the passing night divine.
‘Learning to weep, learning to keep vigil, learning to wait for the dawn. Perhaps this is what it means to be human.‘
- Henri Nouwen
‘The robe of flesh wears thin.’
- John Buchan
Seek and ye shall find me in the darkest of the nights,
speaking of the torments, and the multitude of plights.
In the air it can be heard, all those who hath gone before,
to seek inside the glory mind, of which could not be ignored.
Travel deep down, down deep into the depths, until ye rise again.
And if ye shan't rise, let it be no surprise,
This ere task is not pretty, amen.
Archaic dark night of the soul instructional, for the win.
when in the midst
of the most bitter
oh dark night
of the soul
bow to you
would i know
bring the next epiphany
tho’ it may be shrouded
in the darkest night of soul
‘tis too exquisite
not to know
the wisdom folded
eking out the ultimate gasp in my last breath of impulsion
i collapse without a touch of grace at race's end
how i made it i will never know
dazed and in bewilderment
i reminisce upon my journey
an aggregation of barricades assailed me
with iniquitous decadent delight
seeming to writhe in triumph at my possible demise
capitulating as it devoured and spewed me out the other side
i humbly reassembled fragments of my near annihilation
i recommenced the toilsome climb
to the treasured peak atop the mount
when in would come the tempest with its furor
and render me asunder
mere exhaustion is not the word
for death experienced recurrently
ground to mulch and back again
screaming, pleading, surrendering
proved futile as i newly met the same demise
near incapacitation i miraculously emerged
and scraping pulled myself with broken heart and bones
scratching my way through the darkness
toppling at the pinnacle
to victory's end
with exhilaration it dawns on me
the long dark night is over
i passed the test to realize
it is not the finish line
but only the beginning
Though phantoms may be howling at the edges of my mind
Ripping away gobs of flesh until my soul lies exposed
Rotting off my skull, hanging loose from my tired bones
Whilst the terrifying multitude of my unseen fear
Hath become like the vile, gnashing teeth of night's Reaper
As I bare witness to the demons rising and writhing
Within the silver pool of my own lean, haunted reflection
Yet I cannot turn away; Even in my darkest hour
I must summon the courage to stay; For this is my reckoning.
— The End —