The shortest day beckons sunlight.
The darkest night is before the dawn.
The path ahead may be through the shadows
but even this will pass.
The longest day brings an abundance of light.
Banishes all darkness & shadows.
At night, short & sweet:
Dreams of colour, splintered light.
The darkness behind the mirror leaves us with the shortest night.
And hope slow burns.
Honoured to share a page with Karina Brink @KarinaMSzczurek
There is nobody there I know
You are not there I know
But in the darkness I see your face
and reach for you
Inside my chest I feel your warmth
and reach for you
I reach for you
I’ve been waiting all night and now it’s five in the afternoon and the sun is forgetting its place in the sky. Tonight again then. Again.
Nothing, but nothing, is written in the stars. Except the words I felt when you held my hand and the stars fell towards the sea.
Knees, heart and other night sounds as old age gets up in the dark.
Pitchblack night, no stars. Hold my hand, I’ll stop you from falling – then I fell. Two lying in the mud, crying laughing.
My shadow is my closest friend;
she understands me.
In the darkness of the darkest night
I light a candle to see her close again.
Joe’s new editor tapped the lump of glass on his desk, his he-thought clever way of saying the paper could not wait. Suddenly he threw it against the wall by Joe’s shoulder, where it cracked and crashed and smashed into pieces, spilling out its soon-dulled corals. He looked at Joe’s face, the glass on the floor then leaned down and took an identical paperweight out of his drawer. It would be a long night.
The pink light of night loosened thoughts and tongues; blood pulsed and sped and fizzed and choked off words. But by then words did not matter.