waking, ah…a rising to the surface
& an irritant, methinks the purpose is…
one known and known again ;
a ragged stuttering of pen
and ink on paper, a poem incomplete
on and on I venture,
this me who seeks to speak
Night then, self to carry, weary – wrangled woe
into the span of shadow
behind the Earth’s back, tucked in close
Sunlight cannot reach me :
oh, so much the Night can teach me
It quiets chatter from all ‘sellers’ and the
screens, my gods they lie
even mirrors queer the visage : bound to
psychologic missives
How to Look & How to Dress
eroding self esteem
without all doubts
mirrors, magazines & screens
None mean a single thing, they don’t equate
they are never in my dreams
and rightly so : there is no contemplation
of reflections where I go.
bring me Night, with fingers touch
in shadow I am quite enough
None into Dream can Follow
Nightsong Sigh, a soul unspooling
neither vain nor hollow
escape the pain of the form in which
i needs dwell : listen, shhh… She Calls
ah, the Night knows me so well.
we meet as in ritual, twilight Her Venue
baptism in darkness, thus
Life can Continue
https://rduffus.wordpress.com
(verse ^^^^^)
four fingers two thumbs 