Dark of the Year

I walk outside, and feel the air.

I can almost hear the footsteps here and there.

I do not give in to my inner fear,

As I walk outside, during the dark of the year.

I think of the faces, of the silent hosts,

What does one do? With living, breathing ghosts?

Hollow shells that I encounter far and near,

As I walk outside, during the dark of the year.

I work my rituals, and hear a knock,

I pause, like a frozen clock.

Into the darkened atmosphere, I peer;

And I look into the veil, during the dark of the year.

At a crossroads I leave an offering, in the dead of night,

I pull up my hood, to fight the snowy blight.

An offering for the Gods, and Ancestors I revere;

As I whisper my troubles, during the dark of the year.

I turn around, homeward bound,

I pause every so often to listen, and look around.

I can see the shadows of Those most austere,

And I realize: I should get myself home, tis’ the dark of the year.

Home, I drink darkened tea,

And warm my bones, quite calmly.

I add some whiskey, for some added cheer,

I open a book, warm my toes by the fire,

Memory’s souvenir.

I think, I remember, I ponder,

During the dark of the year.

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Categories: Uncategorized | 4 Comments

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4 thoughts on “Dark of the Year

  1. M.A. Rivera

    Hey, I friggin’ love this! Nicely done. Blessings.

  2. circleblue

    Yes.

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