A Dark Lace Of Hope

3rd in the 'Play On Words 2021' competition

In the fragments of the broken mirror, I could see my soul in splinters. Shadows of the dawn and eventide come as patient clocks on sorrowful days. Shadows are guests, dependent upon the radiating sun, a passing memento to become worthless under the starlit night. Although the shadows come as if part of a natural clock, in truth they tell more of golden rays than darkness.
I was cast into a shadow of my own grief. I had fallen into the inauspicious, outstretched arms of darkness. I could almost picture Marie’s emaciated silhouette longing for hope, circulating in the abyss of captured sunlight.
The glacial climate captured my icy paranoia. It was the type of coldness that reached into my bones, almost as if my heart was a door left open to the piercing wind, slamming only to open again. The sky was a blanket of flocculent clouds, the colour of damp ash, and the ground was its bleak reflection. Each day becomes an eternal prayer, witnessing the light from the doorway in our flickering imaginations, yearning to behold the light in our lives again.
Under my skin, I wear a gnarled cloak of anticipation, extracting the vitality in my body.
Long have I pleaded with Time, beseeching him to bring her back, just for one moment. If she could only be woven back into the fabrics of life, creating a quilt of restored love. When we feel to the core of our souls that life is revered, when we witness that the natural world is woven into our hearts, that we are all part of this illustrious tapestry of creation, then Mother Earth will feel that we have returned. In the sorrow of death is the proof of love, of the bonds that had existed beyond our reality.
I would view myself in the slowly shattering mirror. I hear the sound of breaking glass, it is music that vanishes deep scars; for I am the one escaping a prison invisible to others. The breaking glass showered my dreams in sharp silvers, pierced by my suffocating grief. The shattered mirror reflected the luxurious rays of sunlight, replicating the ephemeral wisps of vapour from my tea.
The sunlight came as woven strands, free and united, flowing into the day it solidifies. The sunlight conjured a spectacular array of mosaics, reflecting from each leaf and wisp of cloud. It was as if there was pure joy in the light as if it were delighted to create art where it shone. My eyes forever rest upon the golden arching rays, knowing that darkness is far and ever lit by the luminous stars. It is the illumination that provides effervescent hues to this world.
The sunlight became my liberator, it captured the darkness of my tarnished soul. The grief flew through me like a river in mountain passes- it eroded, it created new channels, yet the new self arose gracefully.
Reminiscing is the key to light, our only defence against the darkness of grief.



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