Nightly Visitations

The night is no less mysterious than the day
Though the illusion is stronger when we are awake
In our sleeps, taken to the other side of our graves,
We talk with our shadows and with spirits we play

Last night she came and I could not recognize
All I could see was a sketchy face and torso drawn
As on the canvass of wind by the fingers of life
She sat and her chin was resting on her palm

She said I have been waiting for you for eons
Where have you been; why are you so late?
It is too noisy here and wind is too strong
Come with me on the other side and tell me the tale

Tell me what, when, and why of it all
Tell me in whose hands you commended your thoughts
Tell me of times when you betrayed your heart
Tell me of times when you stood steadfast

The night has long gone and in full swing is the day
But through the dark illusions I see the tiny ray
That shows me the way to find why it was so
What was its meaning; what was its goal.


Mutaal Mooquin
October 17, 2009

(Inspired by writing of Caroline Myss; line 15 & 16 paraphrased from her "Into Whose Hands Have You Commended Your Spirit" in the “Anatomy of the Spirit”)