Faith in the Dark
By: Vicky Wilkinson
I would never wish my life upon you.
Even after stitching these wounds,
watching them close.
I wouldn’t, no.
Breathe.
Breathe in the air of life.
But where would it take me?
Where would it take me?
The chilled breeze runs across my face.
I think I’d like to stay in this empty place.
Hollow hills, unfilled corridors,
all for endless days…
You can stay for today.
Light, through the gloom, will glow even in the grey
For now, lay down on this hazy day.
Hush, be still, save for a few subtle coughs.
And let the wind move, With the spirit it carries off.
And the world you knew may crumble in aghast,
all that you love, scattered in the blast.
But don’t let the wreckage hold you still.
Don’t let a shadow steal your path.
And let not guilt sway your sails astray.
Set your course ahead, bold and true abray.
Wallow no longer in the space of unknown—
But rise, rise, and go.
Monument
By: Vicky Wilkinson
The vines shrivel, the moisture… bare.
Fields blacken, with ash falling everywhere.
I’m so happy to see this place burn.
So happy to watch it burn,
to watch it go—
all I ever wanted.
But when I look,
really look,
it burns.
It’s so bright.
I’ve held the torch of a funeral fire,
watched the flames climb higher, higher.
And when the cinders cooled,
when the day bled red to gray,
it cooled to an ashen grave—
my monument.
The day grows black, fog approaches,
and with it—quiet.
Why?
What now?
I didn’t have to.
The Garden
By: Vicky Wilkinson
Sit in the garden,
fresh from the rain.
Wait, be still—
let the twilight settle.
Be calm,
be kind,
hush, let it all go.
For when the sun bows low, you’ll know—
it all passes, all of it, it passes.
In the garden, I find something I find nowhere else—
a stillness, nearly never felt.
No worry, no wonder, no weight to bear,
only wraiths that drift in the dimming light.
Rest here awhile.
Stay as long as you’d like.
Let the troubles take root no more,
and the green grow ever on.
Even as night unfurls its hush,
hear only the breeze,
the murmur of streams,
and while the spirits linger in the hedges.
Sleep drapes over,
soft as ivy at dusk.
Earless
By: Vicky Wilkinson
I’M curled up, fetal, wasting to decay.
The door locks me in, the candlelight fades away.
Rid me of the noise—shut it off, hide it away.
Let me sleep—just one day.
No.
No, no.
No—
seal the walls, cut off the outside,
take the blanket, cover my eyes.
I won’t leave this room.
I won’t.
Scab.
Scab, scab,
Scab…
I don’t want to hear it.
No longer.
Stop knocking at the door