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| The Night tree in the Valley of Shadow |
Tonight the darkness boils with anger
swallowing the light and souls nearby.
It leaves a void that is hollow and bleak
a darkness so dense and pungent
it can be tasted upon the tongue.
All sound gathers into tumbleweeds
that lie still underneath the couch,
prayers fall flat as they escape the lips
and silently shatter as they hit the ground
spiders mirth in such fodder as this.
The lunar coward hides behind the tides,
preoccupied with the busywork of crabs
and by the way the waves pause
a split second just before they break,
just like a jumper on the cusp of flight
from the teetering edge of skyscraper death.
How easy it would be for the moon to
shine a single ray of silver light
to penetrate this choking nothingness,
but there will be no bravery tonight.
Stars become shy and shoot away
to escape the consuming dark
where they can twinkle for other eyes
and be wished upon by those
who still know what it feels like
to feel the shining sun upon your skin.
This eternal blindness is going to be icy,
cold and sharp like the ice man’s dick.
Our only solace is to sit in the blank
and see If our dreams can grow wings,
then we will teach them to fly
and it will comfort us to know,
that though we may not survive,
at least our dreams will escape
the clutches of perpetual boredom
that is this boiling, angry night.
