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Poem
Oh, how I love the way the cold light flows
from above on a downward stroke 
painting the sky in hues of fire and rain.
The ephemeral battle of opposites casting shadow upon
the drawback of Nyx’s curtain.

A young girl of a handful of winters sneaks outside
into the waiting arms of the abyss, silently
shouting a plea into the void– “Is it to me you call so late, 
or have I just succumbed to fate? I wish to heal. I yearn
to see what lies beyond, 
but have not courage nor strength to begone
that long.”

And as if by primordial waters, floats
from the abyss the response:
“Child young and soul yet old, was it I who called
you to this cold? The Fates cast sticks 
in your favor this night, for your silent cries 
be not deserving of someone so bright. Your eyes shine wet
but your heart glows warm, so know Chaos and Cosmos,
shall keep you from harm.”

The girl nods her head, and waits for a while, watching
stars blink their silent stares of assent back through
bough and brambles above, casting winks her way as they tap 
out their own Fantasia of glittering lights against
the looming darkness.

This “Dream Within a Dream” she ponders, as the night 
draws cold and the hours long with the weight of her thoughts.
It seems to me, so she whispers, I have spent my days huddled 
under the moon’s soft embrace. Will I now not know what
warmth is like – that I have become so numb to the darkness within?

Wood screeches its discomfort night after night, as boards
creak at the disturbance of feather footfalls faltering. 
It seems that the night yet calls to souls seeking comfort,
for that night a symphony was composed in her heart.

And as the stars bled out their lights to replenish hers,
the girl waved and smiled her goodbye,
before slipping back into the dwelling from which 
she had need for escape.
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