By the Black of the Night and the Pale of the Day

The rain pours

At quite hurtling speed

With vigour and valour

At the pavement.

 

The pavement, upon suffering this attack

Musters a hue most crepuscularly, vividly black

In its defence shall I state no tangible lack

Of the vigour and valour

So deadly-applied

By the rain.

 

The window is obscured by raindrops aplenty

Each its own entity, thrown at the window

As if were expendable; but why ever not?

Only to dissolve when the weather returns hot.

 

For now, ‘tis cold, and the dreams of the summer

Of last year are sold; at hapless low price but to whom is unknown

Oh, what became of those seeds so wistfully, carefree-sown?

Oh, may I never know.

 

For my sake alone may I never be known

To the coming of the nest I had so hastefully flown

Never, of course, I thought, to return

But a life of disdain it seems I cannot earn

And so to return I have been forced.

 

Or not, of course, for I turn most harried and hurried

Hastefully, indeed, away.

For the rain pours

At quite hurtling speed

With vigour and valour

At the pavement.

 

Blackened roofs of slate, enlightened, dominate my sight

My pupils, dilated, despairing, frightened, become victims first

Of the absence of the light

And harried, hurried, hastefully I bolt

Into the abyss

Of the night.

 

For my home is here and here I shall stay

Until the bleak blue dawn has dragged me

Away.

Be it the cycle of nature or the devil at play?

I shall care not. For here in the peltering and petering wind

And the rain pouring vigorously, gallantly at its

Fate

And the great black abyss

Of the night

Shall I

Forever stay.

 

 

I shall care not for the light of the day

For I have borne sight of the darkness at play.

Like a puppet is our world at night; and

Tauntingly, tantalisingly yet tentatively tugging

Upon the strings

Is the being of the night.

 

To thee, being of the night –

Extend thy wings, taketh flight

Above all there ever was or is

Amid the silence and quiet compliance

Of your dominion.

 

Though in my head I question thy existence.

Thou dost remain at heart of mine through sheer persistence.

In short, you are a mere figment

Of my imaginative mind alone.

Simply a seed of thought so wistfully sown –

 

- For now, ‘tis cold and the dreams of the summer

Of last year are sold; at hapless low price but to whom is unknown

Oh, what became of those seeds so wistfully, carefree-sown?

Oh, may I never know.

 

To thee, being of the night –

Extend thy wings, taketh flight

Above all there ever was or is

Amid the silence and quiet compliance

Of your dominion.

 

For my home is here and here I shall stay

Until the bleak blue dawn has dragged me

Away.

 

The rain pours

At quite hurtling speed

With vigour and valour

At the pavement.

 

 

 

Blackened roofs of slate, enlightened, dominate my sight

My pupils, dilated, despairing, frightened, become victims first

Of the absence of the light.

And harried, hurried, hastefully I bolt

Into the abyss

 

Of
the night.

The End

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