night
i
throbbing thoughts weigh me
and i break on the spring of balance…
pressured pulses poke-pinch
the tranquility of my veins
and a giant pain pestles
my broken bones in the mortar of maladies
i play a puzzle with life…
the game of bereaved brains in nooses
it is my costly jest with death
and death has no clowned clothing…
ii
something falls on my face
a spate of sorrow and a furious frown
i have seen this portrait before
a young shot in life is beautiful…
only fantasies…not memories
are fortunate figures of repetitions…
how i wish…i wish
there are just days and no nights
of beds and foul scents of roses…
the night is here and the stings of thorns.
iii
the night howls a darkened ether
and cooing clouds in dusts of dusk
the waning moon is hedged
veiled behind cloudy spells of darkness…
but not this crescent’s smile
the lighted bow void of gloom
such a skinny smile darkness could dread!
lewis… this maybe night
swollen with seeds of sadness
i shall light a smile…
A Clear Midnight - Walt Whitman
ReplyDeleteThis is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,
Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done,
Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou
lovest best.
Night, sleep, death and the stars.