poetry entry
Night
As dusk’s double grey shades peel back the rays of sun
And fold Aurora’s strained weary fingers into a clenched fist,
Mother Night pours from every empty tree and hollow cave
To drown life in her seductive scent.
Like a rising Delphic fume,
She bids everyman be a prophet of future’s fortunes
Through tumbling dreams or stumbling twilight promises.
And while some find her embrace a burden,
By her captivity,
Others are liberated from the rules of coherent thought.
Fates sew the thread of life to her tapestry
As burning torches, like awls
Pierce her and stitch her to mankind.
She, herself, is not wild,
For in the darkest night there is silence and calm,
But woven with man, she bears him Chaos
And draws up within him
Thrashing fear
And Blindness.
As dusk’s double grey shades peel back the rays of sun
And fold Aurora’s strained weary fingers into a clenched fist,
Mother Night pours from every empty tree and hollow cave
To drown life in her seductive scent.
Like a rising Delphic fume,
She bids everyman be a prophet of future’s fortunes
Through tumbling dreams or stumbling twilight promises.
And while some find her embrace a burden,
By her captivity,
Others are liberated from the rules of coherent thought.
Fates sew the thread of life to her tapestry
As burning torches, like awls
Pierce her and stitch her to mankind.
She, herself, is not wild,
For in the darkest night there is silence and calm,
But woven with man, she bears him Chaos
And draws up within him
Thrashing fear
And Blindness.