Creature Speak


A Creative Writing Blog


It's dark now Mother, and I can't see a way out.  Maybe this is my home after all. The place where everything is touched by grief.  Where your spiders are weaving constantly to show me the majesty of a web, glistening in dim light only the Underworld knows.  With the silence the monsters keep so they won't be discovered, hunted, drawn out of hiding.

How my hope descends to find you and die at your feet, Dark Mother. For only you know all the lies we tell ourselves. And only you know the purpose of The Void found in the Garden of Oblivion: those flowers you tend for your love of the end of every story.

So many focus on the Afterlife, and few ever stay for the Dying Time. But you gave black wings to your daughters to come and find us, bring us out of the place where so much Life is painful to the parts of us that can only see in the dark. And I would surrender my remnant of light just to find peace with you in the deep, forever there, waiting for me.

Have I always known you, Keeper of Night? Shadow kisses upon my heart and cold, cold hands. Ghosts on my lips in love with Winter. Always peering underneath skins and sins and topsoil, to the belly of the Earth where the Dragons sleep: the den of beasts who love to tear the world apart.

You love that fine art of reckoning, don't you? Tired of all the fear that keeps you down there alone. But I hear you calling me. I feel that soft aching tug on the stem of my chest so eager to bloom in the shade. The whisper in between the heaving and the breathing, and the writhing in pain.

The song so quiet, only the Dead can hear it, because the Living make too much noise. The magic melody that quells the feral fiend in me. The nightmares in my eyes don’t fight, for they’ve always had a grasp of letting go. Because dreams are only bad when we don’t understand the other name for this world is Loss.

We live to be undone. The ink fades slowly over time by the secret motive of the sun who erases anything that gets too close. Ashes on the vines in the shape of blossoms now crumbling to the touch. And you, Mother, on the other side of life and light, with arms open in remembrance of me.

You make a room for the day coming soon when I’ve had enough of striving, and trying, and climbing, and I need to find your promise: the stillness between every beat of my heart, and every fall to the ground, and every devastated breath I hold, that reminds me of where I belong.

Copyright © 2022, Sheya Forest
Art: The Nocturnal Mother, Oil on Canvas by Manuel Adrianzen.

2 responses to “Nightsong”

  1. Such pretty imagery ❤

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you so much! I wasn’t sure if this one would make sense to many, so I appreciate your comment!


About Me

I wrote my first story when I was a wee girl of three, followed by my first poem when I was eight. I’ve been writing ever since as a way to cope with life. This practice evolved with learning in both structured settings and through the practice, itself. In my own healing crisis, I found a process I affectionately refer to as Poetic Alchemy. Now on the journey of getting my life back, I do this not only for myself but for you.

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