Dark Things

Darkness is not despair, though we have made it to be. It is not a fear a monster (incorrectly named, for monstrum meant ‘the one who warns’ / we are constant perpetuators of misnomers for we believe the old demons to be gods). It is simply the absence of light, the unknown. And man humanity fears everything it cannot understand.

Darkness is not grief or pain, though we have ascribed it to be. It is simply beyond you; the universe of you simply cannot comprehend what lies beyond your reality. So for you, my universe is darkness.

Yet, we grow. Yet, we see light.

Fear is unwanted, unneeded.

I may write of dark things. That for me is words, thoughts, and the genius of oppressively suffocating history that paints the dark with colours, names you so dislike. You so don’t understand.

My darkness is beyond your reality. You cannot begin to comprehend the infinite possibility of the void. If devoid, means empty, shouldn’t darkness mean everything?

Nonetheless I accept your reality. I cannot comprehend but feel envy. I cannot know but feel lonely. So hear me when I say, when I reside in darkness, everything helps me love glimmers and rays as best I can. It is the only thing darkness will give me. Love for the impossible light.

 

 

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