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

Grounded

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
Anew

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

Anguish

Hurt

Sorrow

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