Sneak Attacks of the Night

The poem, perhaps yet unfinished, has been rolling around for awhile. It speaks of that which keeps us up at night — anxieties, traumatic memories, resentment, anger. There is something about the dark that invites these things to blossom in ways they wouldn’t dare during the day.

Petals unfurling at night,
a flower blossoms in the shimmering glow
of an ever-full moon.

Stubborn and devious,
it will not bloom in broad daylight
(no, for there it withers
under the stout resistance of one’s heart
and mind.)

Instead, this sickly-sweet blossom prefers
a still, silent world
shadows
poor night vision.

Feet, hands frozen
as if in a dream
can neither pluck it
nor flee from it.

A stray cloud passes;
the momentary distraction
shatters the illusion.

Then, a deep breath,
blankets tucked in again.
Weary eyes shutter.

The petals collapse in on themselves,
defeated for this night.

Richard Boyle @hellorich

Most of my creative energy in the last weeks has been directed toward church-related plans and staying present with broader invitations of life. All of this has required a high level of collaboration, which is fantastic and I wouldn’t trade any of it!

But it has been awhile since I’ve written anything “shareable” for the blog. I saw this on a friend’s timeline and I knew it was true for me.

The poem above, perhaps yet unfinished, has been rolling around for awhile. It speaks of that which keeps us up at night — anxieties, traumatic memories, resentment, anger. There is something about the dark that invites these things to blossom in ways they wouldn’t dare during the day. Sometimes there is the grace of a passing cloud, or a new perspective; often there is not.

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