Black

Let's begin with space

where the void conceals

all that light reveals.

It is balanced, measured

in presence

and absence.

Let's move inward to the soul

as it is weighed on scales.

Justice has hers, Osiris has his.

Old ones, and Wise.

The Old know dark and light

as well as they know

alive from dead,

presence from absence.

Their measurements

can be trusted.

The young and unwise, too

have scales on which

they weigh each other's souls

and their own.

Instead of shining light

to reveal what darkness conceals,

sometimes darkness spreads from them

to conceal the light in others

and themselves.

This has always been.

Black.

A word for heaviness

and shadow, a word for

fear, evil, emptiness,

nightmares,

the void.

These are the weapons

thrown by the word

Black.

But what is hidden by the word

is not the weapons;

it is the solace,

the darkness against which all color

is bright.

It is the sleeper's comfort,

the balm to illness,

dreamer's domain,

the friend to both the hunter

and the hunted.

It is the concealment

of what is terrible

to know.

Black

is a word for people,

strong of body,

whose darkness of hue

is weaponized,

though they are people,

not hue.

They are not concealed;

those who would conceal

will never be able.

They are revealed.

They walk in the light

and in the darkness

as all do.

The Old and Wise

measure hearts for balance,

not for goodness.

If there is no

Black,

there is no balance,

no wisdom.

Even the mindless,

endless space

shows more sagacity

with its light

always traveling, reflecting,

always enfolded in

Black.