Darkness Yields The Brightest Light Poem by Thea Pound

Nothing but a cold darkness here,
Since the sun died out;
Just ruthless dreams of a hopeless hope,
A cruel fate, framed by doubt.
The whispers urge me in the shade,
To never surrender the ideal,
But even entrapped in celestial claws,
I cannot escape what is real.

In solemn solitude, what is there left?
Is anything worth the fight?
The dreams I have dreamt cannot be achieved,
Not by one so consumed by the night.
But it dawns that I am not devoured;
Just frayed at the edges, it seems,
For if I could accept finality,
How could I still hold these dreams?

Wrapped in these velvety shadows,
I feel the fire deep in my flesh,
For my hopes and dreams cannot be slain,
Not ever while I still draw breath.
Though they may call me deluded,
My work has only begun;
For I will take aim at the heavens,
And I will ignite the new sun.