Night,
black as indigo ink,
envelopes my pain and sorrow.
Moonlight,
in silver threads,
does not reach this hollow place;
there is no repreive for a weary soul.
I've asked the questions a thousand times;
never an answer,
no reply.
And why do I stay here in this vacuum?
Because I cannot deny love.

Each day I build the dream;
each day more vibrant,
more colorful.
And each day I take one step closer
to the edge of the precipice
and stare at the waters of destruction below.
I suppose there will come a time when I must either fly or die.
But the more time passes,
the less I believe
in faith,
and charity,
and hope.

Visitors Since Imbolc 1999

© 1996 Lady Brighid
All Rights Resereved

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