
Bare flesh, lightly visible in the moon’s spark of the black night
Standing before the massive outline of shapely treetops
darkened purpled by the densely expanse of an unknown
Staring into the depths as if looking into its genius, the creator of it all
without seeing to confirm the visual awareness of surroundings
feeling more emotion from the darkness as it demands attention by
sucking out light to anything that crosses the
boundary of shadows; dictator to all of the nightly critters, those
egotistical orators claiming the highest pitch of the chorus
to offer his or her version of story to the world
All of this, as I gaze out through the field
A grassy plain isolated, vulnerable to any watchful eye
A lamp goes on there, and then turns back off
on, off, on, off, on;
Proudly illuminating the nearest blanket of grass
trying to demand some of the night for itself
Covering its land in a hauntingly shade of yellow
only enhanced by the purity of each blade,
and again off
Now pale, dimmed within the natural light of the moon
Creating a normal hue to walk through
without feeling the suffocating grip of man
Low flying clouds churn out an embraceable
wind, that collapsed within the cloth;
protecting my skin from the harshness of touch
A kiss upon brow, satisfied
that sacrificing anything else
would kill the magic of the current
flow, frumpling feathers and giving
flight to the creatures above,
on
Masking identity behind palms
out, sheltering others as much as
isolating self
A cluster of memories to ruffle the
tendrils of every curly strand
Each one grasping on to a single thread
of thought attached
Highlights set aglow by flashes of
reflections;
Trying to imitate the stars overhead and
all of their tinkle tinkling
A trendy scene for a fairytale themed movie or play
With characters to love and
characters to hate
For moments of happiness and a few
remembrances of the bitter
unfortunate periods of sadness
Even those times of numb stoicness, where
giving only all to self and shutting down
any honest part of the truth, is easier than
being alive at all
A question of validation to never be answered but
to continually be pondered, because there are
always two sides to every thought
As there are to every random misplaced impulsive
reaction to any kind of sensation,
off
Is this what you want? I implore you;
ask, as you might demand the answer
if given the opportunity,
on
I think to offer surrender, like an adolescent of angst
forsaking all responsibilities and
tempting fate into showing face
Crying wolf and risking the emptiness of the
other side of faith, as it is
now but I don’t know how I could ever bear
the possibility of the worst kind of confirmation
That this is all we’ve got
I’ve resolved myself to hope, to suggest that it’s not;
Off.
I am grateful for playing in the light and the dark; it is what we make it. ❤