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Kerensa of the Twilight Children

Night Rituals from the Land of Flying Children

Such enigmatic sentinels, these shadowy trees; they bend and tangle;
their skeleton branches intertwined, bare arches of vaulting timber,
black in October, their dead limbs straggle and crouch,
cringing into the frozen earth, caught in a bramble of soggy leaves.
What sorcery must they speak of
here, among themselves,
whispering in this Autumn wind?

The child leaned into me, as if to be made of wood,
she leaned low, as if to cocoon against
the pure, piercing chill,
so still,
her breath dared not fog this shrouded night,
until,
out of this misty wood,
one Voice simply said, "Come."
and she went quickly, saying "I am a ghost-dancer;
a child of the night.
I came against my will,
I resisted the pull of fire and heat---
this frenzied beat
that lures me still
from my dark abode
in the Girl's mind,
I, alone,
know these night rituals."

And the trees, her only friends,
endured this gathering
of hooded figures
moving silently
in a musty wood; a dense thicket
of tangled undergrowth.
Their roots have grown in.
Some part of me has run away.
Another has something to say:

"To make them proud
I must wear a black shroud
light the black candles
and fall out of a cloud---
so long ago,
the wind blew him to and fro,
and he landed in fire
in a place far below,
where nothing exists
but despair and woe.
I don't want to go!
But I must dance anyway
to save my Self
for another day."

From their frozen branches, trees drip icicle tears into the fire.
They shiver and shudder, fluttering a diamond mist to the raw ground.
So brittle, so fragile, so breakable,
they bow and lean, flutter and swoon;
their silhouettes, suddenly nebulous in this lost twilight.

A lone shape approaches the fire.
The child's eyes begin to burn.
She discerns
an altar
hidden among the trees.
No one seems to hear the naked woman's pleas---
a sea
of black hoods, dark shadows
gather round.
She is bound to eternal silence.

The trees are old brittle bones protesting---

Strange eyes mirror the fire
All have one desire---
to give themselves over
to the power
of the Evil-One.

I want to run!!
But I am No-one.
I've forgotten who I am.
I cannot see.
Their dark light has blinded me.
I want to flee
before he owns me.

Momma, come get me!

Useless words.
I am
already
one of many.
All of us fly
like night birds---

Clouds converge
in this nefarious twilight.
Dusk reluctantly
becomes night.

A knife is lifted
in the murky light.

We're all wrong!
This is not right!

I pray to God
to protect me from this sight,
from remembering this night
and all that is evil.

Night passes into itself. Yet, the twisted branches of the trees
are reaching;
with open arms
beseeching
The sun to come out and announce the dawn,
for birds to break out in resplendent song
and flying way up high
near God---
perhaps they can help defy
this diabolical lie.

And all these flying children
floating above themselves
in this misty wood,
not living as they should,

born of God, born free
simply able to grow and be---

instead
they desperately
block pain
needing to forget
this evil sky
where they must endure

as a we
instead of an I.

Why??? Why???

Please let them go. Let them Fly.

 

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