From open sores my lifeblood seeps
Draining down into spaces between
Here, there and Neverwhere
Emptying out the filth
Purging me of you, of us
Of all that could have been
A fresh start, somewhere between
Here, there and everywhere
These veins flow endlessly
Leaving behind the memory of you
Spilled ink on paper
Remnants of days filled with memories of you
Memories that bled joy and sorrow
A lifetimes worth of feeling trapped within
Like old stone weathered by storm
This is how I remember you
Like roots of Ancient trees
Old Gods, unseeing
Seeped into every inch of me
I am drawn to you as a Moth is to Flame
The Fire you hold within burns bright
Yet you restrain your passion in fear
Deep walls surround you
A Prism of light bathed in Shadow
Still I am drawn to you
Learning to dance with the shadows
Seeking your warmth to survive
This Winter of ice and solitude
We are all of us searching for something to light up the darkness we carry around inside of us.
For some people they find that light within another person, within family, within community or within the greater cause of a nation.
For others it is found within the works of others, the solace of a book or piece of music.
There are some who find the light only when they are creating something themselves.
Putting pen to paper, bleeding ink into skin, feeling the warmth of wood being shaped into something of beauty, there are a myriad of avenues Humans have gone down to expend this inner energy we find ourselves carrying within to bring forth something new into the world.
Every single one of these ways of finding the light is of value, and we must not allow anyone or anything to take away the thing which helps us illuminate the darkness.
So fight with all your heart and spirit to keep them alive. They are what will guide us forward into the future.
We name mostly in order to control but what is worth loving does not want to be held within the bounds of too narrow a calling.
In many ways love has already named us before we can even begin to speak back to it, before we can utter the right words or understand what has happened to us or is continuing to happen to us: an invitation to the most difficult art of all, to love without naming at all.
-David Whyte consolations