Darkness, you’re too big for me
I can’t keep up the fight
You don’t respond to all my tricks
You won’t turn into light.

You came back the other day
When I thought I was free
Your ancient smoke crept at my throat
Said, “Hi, remember me?”

I thought I knew the things to do
To help you on your way
But you’d grown thick and heavy
And said that you would stay.

I softened and made space for you
Calmed down, embraced the fear
I listened and I breathed you in
Let go—and you’re still here.

Darkness, Darkness, what’s your deal
What more do you want of me?
Just for you to know I’m real
A voice calls quietly.

You ask me to do nothing
But bear you in my heart
Give up the need to draw the line
Where you end and I start.

Darkness, indeed I know you
But that’s not your only name
You’re Love exhausted, Hope unanswered
Life, pressed down and drained.

You are the formless air
For every flame that burns
The other side of every coin
That glistens as it turns.

I’ll take you with me, Darkness
Everywhere I go
When you cry I won’t hush you
But say, “Yes, it is so.”

Darkness, you’re too big for me
I can’t keep up the fight
Sleeping child in my arms
I hold you through the night.

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Backstory

This one goes out to anyone making their way through their own Dark Night of the Soul.

The last verse was inspired by my youngest daughter. As she grew out of her toddler stage and got bigger and heavier, it became a long, drawn-out struggle to get her to go to sleep by herself in her own bed.

I lost the battle often.

Many times she ended up falling asleep in my arms. This was really frustrating because it was very hard to put her down without waking her so I was basically trapped. But of course, holding your child as she sleeps on you is also one of the sweetest, most exquisite parts of being a mother.

These memories came to me when I was writing this poem.

Accepting the darkness, sitting with it because you can’t fight it anymore – sometimes there’s no choice in the matter and you will end up doing this whether you want to or not. But in the quiet of the night, as you nurse a pain too heavy for words – perhaps, perhaps… there’s a certain tenderness there that can’t be found elsewhere.