Of The Night
July 1, 2013
And when it’s sets, with its peering eyes,
like Christmas bulbs blinking through black stitches,
what does it think?
Scarred by reflections of angst yet riveted from illustrious deeds;
That heavy night.
Dense in darkness and lonely in speech,
it enunciates through it’s vastness;
Postured in silent elegance,
it says “Nothing.”
With sedate frequency it dwells in plummet-less breaths.
Infinity,
in.
And then,
languidly,
out.
Watching for the world to look up, seductive in its gaze,
it’s cloaked in the madness of ticking hearts
conjoined with collapsed lips.
That heavy night
Like the coat of a romanced black stallion it rouses embracing and beckons the moon.
And I like every creature, with one foot vexed inside the tremors of olden slumbers, and the next,
detailed inside the scarlet breath that is now, stand erect, faced pressed agog, against the black, overbearing night,
That heavy night.
Not a mere curtain to the end, but a prelude
to newly imagined beginnings.
A dwelling place for dreams to drip upon a vacuous canvas.
Oh that heavy night.
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