Tonight she came like a soft light pooling among shadows,
a moon born music from within,
a dance in the depths, a beguiling.
My body awakened, light and exuberant;
a subtle fire stirring in my heart,
an energy – a quickening.
One pushes to the edge of things for so long one forgets
the tension of release, the jubilation of despair turned vibrant;
a serenity of darkness that sends one into a voluptuous festival.
If I wander here now it’s for the sheer reason that insomnia
lifted me from my lethargic indifference, gave me back
a natural capacity for surprise, a message from the void.
What does one do during such a transformation?
No longer bound to some religious or metaphysical tale of wonders
one seeks allowance for that which is happening to happen.
The Word that would be word no longer assures us of this change.
Is this the inhuman we’ve been seeking all along? A metamorphosis
from darkness to darkness, a visitation breaking from the surrounding stillness?
The ancients would’ve applied a narrative to it, given a mask to its strangeness;
but now we seem at a loss, unfounded in our new born knowledge.
It is is all one can say; the fruit thereof is one’s life. A certain jouissance…
– Steven Craig Hickman ©2015 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.
The Dark Fantastic: Literature, Philosophy, and Digital Arts 