I have known the dark,
thoroughly,
like an old lover from my youth,
when torrid encounters
left us breathless and abandoned
in places seldom glimpsed
by the lights of the curious.
We wore deep mystery,
long, unfettered shadows,
like haute couture,
riven from a winding sheet.
Leaving bereft the old ghosts;
no more rattling chains and wailing.
Darkness is the place for adjourning
from our sadness,
so we beat those old chains
into fine jewelry
and clasps and adornments
suitable to our station.
The meek shall inherit the Earth,
but here,
at the center of the great unknown,
we have no need for it.
Not that we have forgotten it,
but the world no longer concerns us.
We are free,
obliged even,
to squash our torments
and distill our tears
down into fine wine
and powerful spirits.
A mournful wail
does just as well for a song.
We have cast off the vestments
of the light blinded world
and abandoned the world’s concern,
for it cared not for us.
We the citizens of dark beyond nightfall;
shadowed places never exposed to the Sun.
Here is the spaces between photons, we exist.
ghosts, to be sure,
but we dress well
and we drink better
and we sing our songs
to the places where the world is dark.
HG – 2016
