My Poetry

Night

Night, most mysterious of ladies, settles her soft, ebony cloak over her kingdom. Her dark eyes gaze down upon us, lit by the spirits of the countless multitude gone into her shadowed embrace. Over the plains before me, mist gathers like a horde of nebulous wraiths, numerous tendrils like ghostly rags reaching over the long grass with a chilling touch. Trees slumber in a long dark line, like a rampart of towering blackness. Silence seeps  into my bones as I view the darkened splendour of the Lady Most Obscure, the sort of silence that swamps any desire to create sound. So I stand motionless, mystified by Night’s serene soundlessness and her secretive gaze. A strange longing overcomes me, a need to understand, to know, but what precisely I could not say. My heart swells within my chest and my lungs fill themselves with the cold breath of Night, and though the knowledge so abstract continues to evade my clutched, I feel a sense of her peace. My mind stills as I gaze into her eyes, Lady Most Serene, and I am lost to her. A breeze ruffles my hair as a light gust of laughter escapes her lips, and it seems to me that her mirth is that of fond amusement, not dissimilar to that of a mother watching her very young child speak their first words. And suddenly I am as a child, possessed of so little knowledge or understanding, but free to wonder at such marvels of creation as Night, free to grasp at fleeting impressions of deeper things though I may never catch them, and free to love and laugh and thrive in the short time I am here. This life is a gift, meant to be unwrapped with the delight of a child, not the sombre sighs of a disillusioned adult.