Κυριακή, 16 Αυγούστου 2015

I was gentle.

When their first evening came
I did not flinch
I did not run
But offered all my mornings
Extinguished my small sun
And I was gentle.

And when their first night came
I was not frightened
And did not reach for fire
But laid down all my days
Put out my own dim moon
And I was gentle.

And when true darkness fell
I was not angry
Nor did I feel the light was owed
I joined the dark with my own
Weighed with my young dead stars
And I was gentle.

And when the morning came
I was elated to be richer
An altar worthier of sunsets
But in the light they ran
And they hid and they cowered
And still, I was gentle.

I built myself into a thing unlit
No sun, no moon, no stars, no fire
All gone but scent and touch and words
And still it was too bright
And still it was too warm
Though I was gentle.

So now when the days begin to fall
I rudely shine my brightest
Unkindly burn my hottest
And make the shadows deeper for them all
I doubt they'll know this is my one way left
Of being gentle.

And should the winter bring them back
Should they retrace their course upon the snow
I really, really, gently hope
They do not face me now at all
And know to stand behind me
Where they might think me gentle, still.