Poetry

Step 29 (89.)

Not that there is anything wrong with darkness.
It is the parchment on which all our best thoughts are written,
the map that charts our wildest adventures,
the to-do list that outlines our best-and-worst-laid plans.
When the lights go out,
I write the schema
for some sort of future.
It can get dangerous, the darkness,
thus it is paramount to address it in solitude,
or, companion willing,
to bring a friend along.
Hence the somnambulist.
On a good night, our good knight
can ride their dream-steed up any kind of hill,
and slash with their vorpal blade any nightmare thicket,
but some nights aren’t good.
Just as some knights aren’t good.
Sleep warriors may metamorphose into sleep worriers,
and these
are the basest sort of sleep scoundrels.
Even the most vorpal of swords
cannot cut through the shadows that entangle
a breaking sanity.
They entered the night alone, our companion,
and I followed.
Turned potential wheezing into a we sing,
and our song
scattered the midnight storms.
It is entirely possible
that I or the skilled sleepwalker
will make it through many night walks
alone, unscathed, with mind intact.
Just in case, however …
camaraderie is the lantern we hold against encroaching shadows.
So I turn from this dark void,
pleased with my own thoughts,
to wind my way back home
with my new friend.

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