The chosen few can pass this night of gales floating in the intimacy of friends and fine ideas. While we who are confined to fixed positions shake as if the wind might impale us on the sharp spears of our lives, whisper as though our voices could bring the walls down on our naked heads. We sit behind closed windows, bolted doors, unaccounted for, unsure, ill at ease, feeling unprotected as rain shatters against the roof with the crash of glass on brick. The light of day has faded. The weight of night, the weight of all nights, pales in comparison to this leaden darkness pressing against our eyes, making the brilliant dawn unthinkable.
24 Monday Mar 2014
Raven Spirit said:
Quite an interesting poem. Yes.
Liberty of Thinking said:
For some reason, this can pass as a “lighter” poem. It does nevertheless cross into the unfathomable realm of magic…
It’s like a spell, meant in the beginning to disperse the misty aura of it, just to embrace in the end its protectiveness.
The words in the end tell nothing of the love affair between the lost soul and the voluptuous twilight inhabiting the “unthinkable”…
mmm…yeah. i get this.