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Poetry | Prose
Burning Darkness
Accepting my internal fire
I have this burning darkness inside of me.
Like a black flame that gives off no light, fueled by the salt rubbed deep into my wounds. Yet, it illuminates the soul better than a thousand candles might.
Most days, it’s like a force void of form,
just shadowy whispers that dance across the mind. The echoes of ancestral nostalgia, or perhaps siren calls, build in the wind like an impending storm.
I feel its familiar pull on the waves surrounding, isolating my core.
Like a Deity beckoning from her lunar throne. It’s here, in the dead of night, through the darkness and my insomnia, that her true power is shown.
She’s my own dark divinity living only within,
offering evasion of restraint and freedom from the calloused protection I built as a child. A wild temptress finally dancing freely in her “sin.”
Unable to resist, I reach for the bitter fermentation of my vengeful attitude,
sealed and buried like an ancient wine. They all come flooding back, the memories, the pain, the wrongs inflicted with a poisoned whip, all with hands held out expecting gratitude.
