My Day 3 poem, based on the prompt at https://www.napowrimo.net/day-three-8/

‘Doucement, ne les dérangez pas.
Il y a des gens qui vivent comme ça.
Les artistes de demain.
En desespoir agréable.’

—David Sylvian, Despair

Another quiet night, a blue light glow
emanates from the other side of the room,
a gentle stream of indistinct sound
to smooth away edges unseen, but keenly felt.
However one feels about the night,
never forget the sky holds stars,
echoes travelled across time.
Doucement, ne les dérangez pas.

Do these echoes hold spirits,
guardian angels, saints, or saviours?
Most of us can only wait,
wait impatiently for answers.
The Divine Mother knows when to hold tight,
when to let go, and when to sit silently
in that darkened room with the pain.
Il y a des gens qui vivent comme ça.

But we, what do we have but to fill our days
with fantastic stories and inconsequential details
in hopes of stumbling upon that which might save us—
or distract us from the futility.
Oh, maybe the fabric of space-time will repair or rupture,
and someone will break the code, read the message,
discover the map to what we’ve been missing.
Les artistes de demain.

These familiar places have many names;
we go by the ones that strike our fancy
in that particular moment.
Sometimes it feels like no place is home,
or home isn’t what it used to be,
but surrender is not an option.
Instead, we must keep moving forward
en desespoir agréable.

(3 April 2022)

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