LaMythica, Wizardress of  'As Is'

Dedicated to fellow wanderers of the night
Ellen and Katie!

Here I sit in candle glow,
the music soft and low.
The flickering flame dances,
it's in a place,
a land, I'll never know.

The warmth, the peace here,
comes to fill my soul.
I'm soothed and drenched in shadows.
The only truth I know.

I own the darkness,
and the darkness owns the night.
And night owns its own lanterns,
its own truth and me tonight.

And as usual,
I can't let go.
Can't seem to let this time slip by.
Can't allow those feelings out tonight,
out to question,
and to cry.
Yes, all the reasons why,
And a chill, I can't deny.

But, the chill and fever passes,
and though I'm frightened of the dawn,
The haunts seem to linger on.

It's night and its own magic
which soothes, yet,  frightens me the more,
Like brew I've yet to pour
and echoes still in store.

But, it's here that I belong,
to this and candlelight,
the faltering words, I sometimes write.

Alone with these and night's own song
secrets kept,
amongst the tears,
promises come and met,
and gone.
Yes, secrets and the shadows,
yesterdays,
and whys -
Always, always, whys
and to stave off tomorrow's unpainted skies.

Here I sit in candle glow.
It wasn't always so.
Sometimes I'd write by moonlight,
or starlight.
I'd write and never lift my pen,
And yet,
believe,
I might never write again.

I'd write on the pages of the mind,
Such sweet whisperings of mine,
Kissed in mists of night and wind and time.

I'd speak into the darkness,
unto the spirit there.
My poems and my soul, given
and gone out of control.
The words would falter then,
again, again, again.

So, it is ever thus,
and ever will it be,
That the heart and depth of me,
belongs to these hours,
late at night,
Like the poetry I write,
in her shadows,
dark and deep,
and
all those queries I must keep.

Now, Swept up in her embrace,
like the wounds I bind and face.
They carry me away,
through the seas of yesterday,
Through winds that howl,
yet, never speak,
into mists of dark and deep.

Yes, the breadth and breath of me,
is there
both in the stillness and the air.
In the soul, which is the night.
Her half truths and half cast light.

And I am forever there,
watching in the night,
through her passages of flight
feeling both her darkness and despair,
her loneliness and care.
Yes, out there,
somewhere,
till the dawn,
when the morning sun is born,
and all we wish upon,
may come to be,
may yet, come for me.

By Linda A. Copp
©January 25, 1982