Poem-Victorious

The dark is beautiful.
It serves as a silky, shadowy screen that the grotesque
beasts; the flaws of our Creator’s moldings
hide behind.
The beauty of the dark is not seen
in what it shows,
but in what it hides.
One must look in the hidden, to find.

The dark is merciful.
It consoles by letting the tears dry
and letting heartbroken sobs escape
without an audience.
It defeats any living soul
at being a shoulder, a grateful shroud,
it heals where none other can
it whispers words of safety, in silence.

The dark is powerful.
As the mind contemplates the somber blanket,
the stygian protector, it creates within it
every entity that can be conceived.
In the codex of imagination that is the mind,
everything and anything can be present and unseen,
and therefore it is. Ignorant,
the mind is blissfully deceived.

But, above all other qualities,
the dark is unrivaled.
Light is no match for the obsidian cape,
as art is no match for its artist.
Dark is its creator,
for it is the void between stars that make them jewels
and the darkness surrounding a candle that gives its flame beauty.
Of these beings we refer to as light and dark, dark is smartest.

The dark is victorious.
Light is born in its innards,
and the dark summons it forward.
Shadow carries light from itself, from within
Some lack understanding, and thus the dark scares them off.
They set a fire heart ablaze, to push their foe back,
And instead of realizing the truth, they cheer and don’t see
that every time the light prevails, it is really the dark that wins.