In the shadows, the silence grows, A cavernous void where heartbeats once did echo. Lost souls? Are they even lost, Or just wandering aimlessly, paying the cost?
The sky, once a promise, with colours so bright, Now merely a canvas of endless night. Can you imagine? An eternity of night, Emptiness still filled with hopelessness and blight.
Whispers, they are everywhere, Swirling around like vicious vipers, tales they share. The abyss stretches and expands its scope, Pulling and swallowing every thread of hope.
It’s cold, it’s suffocating, Comforting? Majestic? Or just an empty tide? Mountains, once majestic, now mere rubble, Memories of a time they stood without trouble.
Rivers, those lifelines once so wide, Now barren scars on the earth, with dust beside. The moon, that deceitful glow, mocking in spree, But now it hides, for even celestial beings flee.
The world below, nameless, faceless, A shadow of its past, decaying in its traces. Names, what’s in a name? An identity, a guise? All mere illusions in existence’s vast skies.
No dawn, no sun to light the sight, No morning songbirds, just the echoes of the night. And in this ceaseless dark, what remains? An abyss, the realisation, the unending plains.
In the end, is it all just a dance with shadows, Or a desperate plea to find the meadows.
When I wrote this poem, I found myself attempting to capture the profound weight and introspection that occurs during those long, lonely nights. These are the nights when thoughts wander and often plunge into the deep abyss of existential questioning and even nihilism.
“In the shadows, the silence grows” was a way of expressing that all encompassing, overwhelming quietness. Those moments where my heart felt both loud yet incredibly distant, as if its rhythms were echoing in a vast void, indicating the vastness and depth of my introspection.
The transition from a once vibrant, hopeful sky to an “endless night” captures the journey of the mind from hope and optimism to a place where hope seems unattainable. It’s that daunting feeling of being trapped in an unending cycle of bleak thoughts, realising the potential eternity of hopelessness.
The “whispers” stand for the overbearing thoughts, doubts, and fears that assail the mind. Like “vicious vipers”, they can be menacing and can consume all positivity, leaving behind an overwhelming sense of despair.
The imagery of once-majestic mountains now reduced to rubble and once-vibrant rivers becoming barren scars serves as metaphors for lost ambitions, dreams, and the passage of time. The moon, typically a symbol of guidance in the night, is depicted as hiding, suggesting that even hope and guidance can feel absent in these introspective moments.
The “world below, nameless, faceless” is that state of feeling disconnected, as if one’s identity and purpose have been lost. The question, “Names, what’s in a name? An identity, a guise?” emphasises the existential struggle of defining oneself and one’s place in the universe.
The absence of dawn or songbirds signifies the relentless nature of this introspective night, where one is plunged into an endless cycle of questioning without the promise of a new, hopeful day.
Ultimately, the concluding lines pose the central question: is life merely an ephemeral dance with fleeting shadows, or is there a deeper meaning and purpose? It’s that internal struggle between accepting life as a series of meaningless events or holding on to the hope of finding purpose and light amidst the darkness.
In essence, this poem is an intimate reflection on those solitary nights of introspection, where the mind grapples with existential dilemmas and teeters on the edge of nihilism.
Blakeney-Rose Berry 