Monday, May 25, 2009
In the chill of the wintry night
We arrive at the inn for a night, at twilight.
Like dry leaves roving in the wind
We count our small laughter and tears,
Like beads of pearls on the rosary in prayer.
Countenance of love, wake up in anguish
Of the mind, in the surveillance of the past.
And like birds of night, roams in the darkness.
The moon light is hiding in the blue sky.
The sniveling of a nightingale is heard faintly
In the distance, through the silent murk.
The spirit is writhing in pain and will remain
In vigil, through the night.
What is in store for the next day is not known.
The only certainty is, there will be
Again another dawn, and when the day
Becomes weary and no longer wish to continue,
The sun will set, and darkness will
Engulf the fading light like a lover.