…from the darkness
My sorrow calls hollow
from the darkness
my driftwood dreams floating
upon a slow ebbing tide
waterlogged and heavy
drawn to the depths below
although I once searched for the truth
I now find that it was there all along
in those feather light moments
bereft of anything of substance
embodied in the silence
in the absence of questions
and in the mute refusal of answers
embodied in the emptiness
between the parting of the day
and the listless falling night
where my sorrow whispers to me
from the depths of the abyss
and I am falling, eyes wide open
breaking into pieces
like brittle leaves
trailing their ghostly silhouettes
into the echoing, imperfect hush
truth and illusions colliding
all my questions
now crumbled to dust
© Ann Bagnall
