Sunday, May 2, 2010


I used to wait for night to come, wait for her to settle down:
in the bones of all the creatures when the chilly air surrounds.

As surely as the setting sun, as certain as the grave she'd come,
daily I'd be waiting  for the nightly visitation of her dark embrace,

the dark to hide my face. I'd go eager to her, lost inside I'd contemplate.
 like a scrape with death, she touched me every night;

Just a scrape to give me fright, she drove me mad but left me feeling right,
thrilled me, blessed me with her deep insight, deep and dark and black as blight,

still she's calling, my dear night; deaf, i call back without sight,
lost without my pleading lady, blind without a leading light

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