I couldn't resist needing to retrace a sculpted face-
That chiseled the in-between,
Breaking the hearts screen, slipping through morning dew,
Shuttering the silent sun and the speaking moon.
What softness to a hard night's sleep-
Ardent pillow talk seducing hushes of clamour-
Brushing wildly the inner voice of crescendo, sedating sunlight's blind-lit travel.
How a tingling on the wind can make such a noise, bursting gently forth,
To strain the ear that hears, but doesn't LISTEN-
To bone-chilling harps composing quite perfectly by the haunted heart.
It seems too dangerous to turn to the dawn-
For I might crack the glass of his frozen glance,
To be set aside for a Witche's Menagerie-
Too eerily mobile under solar ray-
and too accessible by moonlit say.
What scares me more?
Walking wastefully around, searching for pockets of knowing
That are folded this way and that, only to find that the pen that marked the dream splattered all about?
That it made a mess as I pressed the stain in deeper still?
Or have I only been betrayed by sensible clothes?
Is it better to leave elegant evening strokes alone-
The ones that seem to know more behind closed doors?
Page after page keeps adding up,
As I struggle to keep track of the zenith brigade-
Yet it always seems to fall back into solace serenade-
Inviting me to rest in the spirit hammock,
That swings and sings such honest songs-
Of a perfect eclipse that rides emotional tides,
and freezes for a moment so I may bask
In the smallest crack of renewing light.
Such stirrings to cling to-
Such impressions at odd times!
Such strange mishaps and odd signs!
I could have caught a glimpse of things to come,
On street signs, license plates, or words exchanged at a local cafe'-
As I passed by and LET IT SINK IN for hours at a time,
only to have the mystique of the night resurface
what's been Divine.
The dark and the light;
The above and the beneath;
The things I THOUGHT I knew,
And the world I THOUGHT that I could see-
I say, "LET THE DAY MOVE, AND THE NIGHT SPEAK."