Wednesday, July 22, 2015

The Gloaming

The beauty of the new dying light
The world set fire by the birth of night
The cloud caught remnants
Shed by fleeting waking hours
Day turned gaunt
Working world wakes at dawn
While the world sleeping will haunt
The dreams and spawn
New stories to tell
In the green glory found
Every night
In the gloaming

A passing ship cuts through the water's surface
Separates the waves and the calm
In the darkness the moon's light
Can be a holy chalice
Here upon the water it shines
Like a distant guidepost
Reminding us of her nearness
Despite our being earthbound
And possessing no wings
To fly
Forever perhaps
But we can appreciate
The passing light
Of the gloaming

Staring upwards
Alone in solitude
Wondering if I am alone
Just watching 
The moon rise
And the sun die
As if some mysterious being
Changes roles, crossing
Over to take the guardian role
Of the watch
Over earth
Made more beautiful
In this
The gloaming

Silent but for a strange knocking
It echoes along with a washing
Of waves and wake against the walls
There is a calm here
Between the harmony of the sky's beauty
And the water's rhythm
It is broken only by humans
And rare, broken acts
That speak their own language
And the peace can only hope to help
Because unspoken broken hearts
Never know the answer
Even in the gloaming

“It is a grave injustice to a child or adult to insist that they stop crying. One can comfort a person who is crying which enables him to relax and makes further crying unnecessary; but to humiliate a crying child is to increase his pain, and augment his rigidity. We stop other people from crying because we cannot stand the sounds and movements of their bodies. It threatens our own rigidity. It induces similar feelings in ourselves which we dare not express and it evokes a resonance in our own bodies which we resist.”  Alexander Lowen

“But when one does not complain, and when one wants to master oneself with a tyrant’s grip — one’s faculties rise in revolt — and one pays for outward calm with an almost unbearable inner struggle.” Charlotte Brontë