Hush now, this night is deep,
and shadows hum their ancient tune.
I walk the halls where sorrows sleep
and feel them stir beneath the moon.
For in my breast an old ache wakes,
a grief that grows with every breath —
a tide that rises, curves, and breaks
against the shore of life and death.
I carried it through blinding halls,
through CT hum and MRI —
a whispered fear that softly calls,
“What ails your mind? What dims your sky?”
The white lines traced across my brain,
ghost-strokes upon the cerebellum,
felt like a map of long-kept pain —
a script no mortal hand could tell them.
Dear heart, don’t beat so hard, don’t beat so loud,
the world is weary, soft, and thin.
You were not built to please the crowd,
but to feel deeply, from within.
And yet I dimmed myself for love,
shrunk my flame to keep the peace —
became a bird whose wings above
forgot their hunger for release.
I begged and pleaded, I tried for so long —
for presence, warmth, a steady hand.
But answers brief and love half-strong
cannot sustain a soul so grand.
Hush now, heart, don’t break tonight,
your tears have carved their sacred home.
Your longing is a lantern-light
that no neglect can overthrow
Elizabeth stands beside me still,
her gentle hope, her patient sigh —
she waits at windowsill and still,
calls her creature to the sky.
She, like I, loved far too deep,
offered more than she received —
held vigil where the shadows creep,
and in her yearning… still believed.
And when the Creature whispered low,
“I called his name and stood alone,”
I felt a truth begin to flow —
the grief that carved me to the bone.
Please now heart, don’t close your door,
for love may yet return to you.
But do not wait upon the shore
for tides that never wander through.
If no warm hand comes forth to take
your trembling palm within its own,
then let your quiet courage wake —
you need not fear the walk alone.
For you are shadow, flame, and gold,
a soul too rich to stay confined.
Your grief is ancient, wise, and old,
but so is the wild fire in your mind.
So rest, my heart, beneath this night;
the dawn will rise and you will hear.
And when you call into the light,
may voices answer, drawing near.
Original article: https://ladyannselene23.substack.com/p/on-sorrow-longing-light