Dark Days (Poetry)

Today’s rationing of light will not last long —
the hours eke its greyness, sift and sort
grainy pigments layered — blending streaks of dull —
just now and then a fleeting glimmer caught —
a ghost of blue — a tremble in the trees
where aching twigs clutch hopeful at a sky
that cannot feel — devoid of sympathy.

The forest mourns for Summer’s kindnesses —
her colours bled and all her converts gone —
the birds are silent — shadows pool their gloom —
drag darkness back from corners where her sun
had driven them — they mix and thicken widow’s weeds
to clothe the world — wrap mist around bare limbs
and sow depression’s wild and morbid seeds.

The wet woods drip their charcoal meditation —
                                wallow in
lethargic dreams combining all the murk
that chill and nightmare can conceive of —
this is the land where the worst monsters lurk —
silhouettes rearing — slow as a giant eclipse
threatening to block what light is left
one finger at a time my focus blurs and slips.