wystswolf

Piles of stones. So many piles of stones.

Oh, early morning hours—
when did we fall to odds?
You were the finest part of me,
now turned traitor.

When I lie still in the dark,
I’m not greeted by the gentle light
that once woke the room—
but a blackness darker still,
one that swallows even starlight
into dim memory.

Distraction and prayer
are my only weapons against you.
And they work—
but only while I wield them.
As sleep loosens its grip
and I drift toward waking,
they slip from my hands
and you return,
washing over me like a tide.

Damn you, darkness.
Leave me be.
Stop trying to snuff out my lights.
And there are so many lights.
Fields of my mind lit by torches,
bonfires carried by the ones who love me,
who worry for me.
Yet your cold, slick flood
rises again
and I begin to drown
in your shallow, merciless
four inches of despair

Well then—
do your damnedest, old foe.
I am not finished.

Light will win.
The faithful always meet again.
There is no timeline
where you take the final victory.
Knock me down—
I’ll rise again
from dust and ash
and start anew.

I will take your power.
I will ride your lightning.
I will reshape you—
not as a lament,
but as something ornate,
moving,
and beautiful.

Love always,
Charlie

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Thank you for coming here and walking through the garden of my mind. No day is as brilliant in its moment as it is gilded in memory. Embrace your experience and relish gorgeous recollection.

Into every life a little light will shine. Thank you for being my luminance in whatever capacity you may. Shine on, you brilliant souls!

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