9 PM Poetry

Channel:

Alexandrian Codex

Subscribers:

313

Published on December 25, 2020 5:49:05 AM ● Video Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8WJFOV7KLL0

Duration: 3:29

9 views

1

I'd like to share with you a secret,
if you'll humor me
on this late December evening

There is some stubborn magic yet left in this world,
residue holding the memory of once being something more,
though it may linger as little more than dust,
like faded cave paintings of eons passed
or calcified footsteps made immortal in volcanic ash.

All the same, it remains.
It remains in still, moonlight solstice nights,
It remains in the quiet first breaths of a new dawn,
It remains in the often unnoticed passing of moments,
It remains in the tired and bitter re-forging of hope.

We will never again know the magical days of yore,
and we can never return to mystical history's shores.
Though we hope that new days and new shores await,
much too far gone and too far passed are we
from those vaunted and distant halls of memory.

On late, and wintry, nights like these,
swaddled in the cold, the dark, and the unseen,
the space between "now" and "then" becomes less real.
An open mind, an open heart, an open ear might hear,
the echoing, lingering whispering of spirits drawn near.

At their quiet behest, in these longest of nights,
we rekindle our fires - we refuel our lights,
we make promises, we give thanks, we forge dreams.
We hold close whatever scant bits of magic this world has left,
and we dare ourselves to create a new tomorrow - despite our regrets.

These solstice rituals do not wipe the slate clean,
not of what we have done, not of what we have seen.
But they do grant us a moment of peace - and, in that peace, an opportunity
an opportunity to do better, an opportunity to try again.
The past cannot be again written, but something new yet can.

9:21 PM
12/24/20