Nightwing

Night is the Raven, and Fear, her companion,

riding the undercurrents of wind overhead.

Unattended, I stand, watching, waiting for her,

seeking not the dawn but that part of me

which dwells in darkness. To live only for light

is to live only half of life and never know what

mysteries lie within my soul or to see myself

as I really am, and not as I wish to be.

There is the soft beating of her wings, oh joyous

sound of Night, enfold me, bring the rapture

of who I am. Let me honor both sides equally,

to become the sum total of the circle, all of me.

By Ruth A. Souther - 1994

Back to Poetry main page