From the Archives – Noir
Why do we fear the dark?
As the shadows lengthen across the yards and the light begins to melt away from the sky, the darkness slithers like a serpent of the night beneath our doorways, through our slatted blinds and underneath our beds.
The mind becomes a master of disguise, shrinking our courage and enlarging all our fears, even those we had no idea that we had.
In the darkest watches, we fear the dark. We freeze inside of it, inside a noise or a draft or a mere feeling, and remain stiff and cold in the paralyzing blackness rather than run towards the light.
Once we’ve snuffed the candles out, once we’ve said goodnight and closed our doors, we should feel safer.
But why instead do we feel alone?
Why instead do we surrender to fear?
What lurks alone in every passing shadow that reminds us of ourselves? Of what we could be? Of what is lurking behind our own facades?
We are born into darkness, we embrace darkness to hide our faces. In the late hours, we hide our secrets in the folds of night, and tip toe down the passages that we have abandoned for so long, cobwebs spiraling across arched ceilings, drifting as a sticky vapor along the crown moldings and down the peeling, faded wallpaper.
Though these sights and sensations are what we know, we surrender to our fear
yet it seems we are too afraid to leave the dark.
That which we fear has held us captive,
and we know not our own selves
we forget the feeling of the light breaking through the dusk, the warmth of a sunrise on clammy flesh, remaining from the terrors that the darkness brings.
The mind is weak at night, fearing that which it cannot see and dying at the sight of the most familiar things that are veiled in ebony folds of evening, set and gone.
We are different creatures in the dark,
all of our emotions rolling forth in a tide,
Blackness, like a forest pool, is our mirror into the deepest reaches of ourselves
for even rain can reach the seed deep under the ground, though the human eye does not know of its existence.
we see ourselves in the night,
and fearing ourselves, we run in the dark
but not towards the light
for even though we fear it,
the darkness is familiar
and we run towards what we know
And if only knowing fear,
then wrap ourselves in a blanket of the dark
and drift to sleep
before we forget
the racing of our own hearts
muffled by the sound
of rustling leaves,
a branch against the windows
and one owl,
reminding us of who we are
before we forget
who we are in the sun.