I want to tell you a story about darkness.
I want to tell you a story about how you felt
When I said the story was about darkness.
I want to show you the stars and the sky
And flash my hand across the black nothing,
Filled with luminous light bodies,
Signalling her beauty, her potential,
Her silent allowance. Her infinite capacity.
The way she holds the stars and lets them shine.
The way she attracts no attention.
The way she makes the stars separate,
The way she gives the day rest.
The way she holds us all in her thickness,
Watching over our night hours,
Beckoning to sleep.
The hand and the stars are the same,
Cut from the same dust,
Eons old and moments new.
The darkness, though,
She is made of something else.
The light and the dark dance until dawn,
Then resume, in a strange negative of night
In the shadows and sunlight,
Dancing in playground corners,
In tree leaf patterns, sprawling across the swings and children,
Stopping the burning light.
Letting her in
Playing their own game.
I want to tell you that you are light and darkness.
And that is okay.
Sometimes we forget that darkness is beautiful.
We forget her allowance, safety and support,
Sometimes, we are so mesmerised by oppositions,
That we scorn the darkness.
We tell her she is nothing.
We tell her we do not want her, we deny her.
She waits, silently,
For us to knowtice.
There is light and dark.
They balance. They make each other real.
They made you.
And if that doesn’t show you their beautiful potential,
Because you are beautiful,
And brave and cowardly,
And kind and savage,
And civilised and animalistic
And and and and…
You are exactly the reason that light and dark exist
What they do together makes all their separation seem dim.