Maybe, maybe, maybe
Maybe the fog is the abyss trying to hug.
Maybe the gloom is the darkness trying to comfort.
Maybe the howling wind is a far away ghost saying hello.
Maybe the grim feeling is the dark’s way of saying you’re not alone.
Maybe the creaking floor is the home’s way of saying it is here to listen.
Reminds me of this poem by Pablo Neruda
“I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz, or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off. I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul. I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance, risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body. I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way than this: where I does not exist, nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.”
Translated by Stephen Tapscott
https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/xvii-i-do-not-love-you/
...and this makes me think of a song I heard once or twice:
What were those words
You heard the ghosts say?
Creeping inside of these walls,
Making them bleed this way
Sometimes the faces around us
They look so strange and cold
Sometimes the voices beneath us
They sound so terrible
Let's send them away
Deep in the cold
There's a shadow man
Deep in the weeds
There is a broken child waiting for a sign
One waving in green and gold
There's an orchard here
Where the nightmares grow
Send them all home
There's a broken road
Where the end of the world waits
Past the tree that's filled with crows
You will find me where I stay
In between the trees
We will carve ourselves a home
Sometimes they whisper between us
"Oh, it can't be so bad"
Laughing and singing their songs
In shuddering rhymes
Names all around have been gouged in the ground
And they speak like knives
Here In the night
In the coal shaft, my dear
I hear lullabies - shivering sweet
As the breathing slows
I feel the need to apologise
For it all
Sometimes I fear that my muses
Are death in disguise
And sometimes I wonder if roses
Might simply be waiting to tear out our eyes
There's a broken road
Where the end of the world waits
Past the tree that's filled with crows
You will find me where I stay
In between the trees
We will carve ourselves a home
