so this is what happens..

[kwayera]

...when I stay up late: I write poems. Not related to anything in particular. Blank verse.


of the expanse of glowing stars
shot and burning, faint
within the thicket of the sky:
of clouds brimming with burnt
gold and ebony, windblown
and restless with fading light:
of a man perched in a tree
with eyes alight in
strange reflection, careless
of whatever path cast him there:
of cloaked night, dark with
the breath of moonless depth,
he knows not what he will find
within the abyss of his own
vague understanding, yet:
of a man and the sky, too unlike
to know their wiles, to know
where they are similar and same
and sane and inhumanly human:
and the man thinks that the sky,
sitting in his swaying tree
has more humanity than even he.