Letting the Night

The sun falls low behind the mountains,
bright still in the skies, shadows on the fields.

Let the night come.
The darkness holds no fear for you any longer.
Yes, it is a stumbling time, A time of blindness
and demons of all kinds,
but you are old now, a survivor of more stumbling
than a man should have to admit,

Your shins and heart have their scars.
And still, you walk. Still your heart beats.
And you are filled with stories,
a broken balladeer, happy to tell tales
by the light of fires.

Not tales of horror. No.
We carry enough of those already.
Fear comes too naturally. No,
tales of the joy of survival,
of dancing after the battles,
David and the ark, joyful
in putting things aright, of living
like the darkness does not matter,
like the darkness has lost its power
and becomes no more than atmosphere
for your song of victory.