| Journeys into Night "Without Darkness, how would we know the Light?" |
| Night is a home for solitude and sadness, a haven for lovers and strangers, a hostel for poets and dreamers, a harbor for delusions and hope, and a hiding place for lonely souls and evil hearts. It is inspiration for music and madness--and insulation for fear and despair. Night can be both escape and prison--both friend and tormentor. It buries discontent to rest the weary mind and exhumes memories to taunt the troubled heart. Night rewards vanity with obscurity and compensates arrogance with uncertainty. Night brings with it secrecy which, like a curtain, can be drawn tightly to obscure clandestine moments of togetherness--or pulled mercilessly agape to reveal the despondency of solitude. Night is the fragrance of a shadowy crimson flower that lingers as an indefinable yet inescapable memory. It is the wispy caress of cool fingers on the back on one's neck. It is the soothing whisper of an unknown lover's voice, which is detected amid the darkness but which can not be understood. For all these reasons, I am careful to refer to Night with the respect and awe it instills in me. In its vast and encompassing cloak, I wrap myself; in its accommodating and uncaring arms, I become a symbiont of its greater power--a disciple of its mysterious ministry, I am segregated and assimilated. I am a part of Night... |
- The Promise Of Escape
As Hope is crowded out by Night,
and Twilight's mercy disappears,
The prayers I hold turn into dreams,
and dreams fall prey to doubts and fears.
The shadowy form of Night looms o'er me--
with star-white teeth and mouth agape,
One brilliant eye to pierce disguise
and claws of black to fear reshape.
What, Night, do you require of me?
How may I sate your bleak demands?
How might I marry my fate to thee
and place destiny in your cold hands?
Your promise is your sweet uncaring,
and I shall in this comfort linger.
You lift my veil of shame and place
a stellar band upon my finger.
Your perfect terror gives tranquil respite
to my soul--teeming with trust and doom;
You beguile me to endure your prison
and not welcome Hope's resplendent bloom.
With innocence and evil mingling,
we consummate this grim transaction:
I sacrifice my precious unworth
and gain no want nor satisfaction.
20June96
Deception/Fantasy
Down the black river,
into the sea--
Out into the infinity
of hopelessness,
Run...
Where is the sky?
If dreams are there,
why do they not glisten?
Countenance heavenward,
shield your eyes.
Blackness stretches its
binding arms
And embraces you
in the thralls of Night.
1988
Down the black river,
into the sea--
Out into the infinity
of hopelessness,
Run...
Where is the sky?
If dreams are there,
why do they not glisten?
Countenance heavenward,
shield your eyes.
Blackness stretches its
binding arms
And embraces you
in the thralls of Night.
1988
| Daylight Savings I saw what you did tonight... I witnessed your crime, and I understood your passion as you wielded your splendor against Hope's valiant display. I knew your motive as you moved: as your ominous, enchanted eyes slowly opened and your yawning arms, stretching toward infinity from your dark asylum, encircled your prey. With filmy shadow fingers, you grasped the soul of Day--your grip unyielding-- suffocating your foe. I watched helplessly as Hope writhed and gasped in your unrelenting clutch, and you grew stronger--and darker-- until you strangled the last breath of Light from the sky. Then you dragged your golden capture beneath the horizon of deliverance and drowned it, finally, in your darkness. There was no mercy in your act, And no forgiveness in your demeanor. Yet I did not turn away my eyes... I did not pray for your victim's salvation-- or for yours. Still, I agonized in the aftermath: I mourned the death of Light and Beauty, I welcomed the familiar newness of solitude and tranquillity, and I contemplated the future-- the resurrection of Hope, the persistence of justice, and the constancy of struggle. Without Darkness, how would we know the light? 28Oct97 Edits 6Nov97 13June98 |
False Prophets
Like footsteps taken, shadows
are but meek mem'ries here;
Their powers become formless
to pattern perfect fear.
The wand'rer's path is e'er unchosen
by precious gems that scold and taunt;
The beacon to the falt'ring heart
is Lonely Ruler's image gaunt.
Beyond finite reality
dwells a spectral presence gleaming;
Moon casts its pallid blessing
upon the innocence of dreaming.
Completed 8Nov94
Like footsteps taken, shadows
are but meek mem'ries here;
Their powers become formless
to pattern perfect fear.
The wand'rer's path is e'er unchosen
by precious gems that scold and taunt;
The beacon to the falt'ring heart
is Lonely Ruler's image gaunt.
Beyond finite reality
dwells a spectral presence gleaming;
Moon casts its pallid blessing
upon the innocence of dreaming.
Completed 8Nov94
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| !!! ALL ORIGINAL WORK ON THIS SITE IS PROTECTED BY UNITED STATES COPYRIGHT LAW. THE AUTHOR/CREATOR RESERVES ALL RIGHTS, AND WORKS MAY NOT BE COPIED, SOLD OR OTHERWISE USED WITHOUT THE EXPRESS PERMISSION OF LINDSEYE GREYE !!! |
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