Night ceases when the sun light creeps
Out from the corners of our dreams.
How should the fire ball burn
Ignoring the heat captured in our dreams.
What was wanted, now passed,
Strung out into morning.
What was then here,
Now gone too fast to claim it real into the morning.
Such perfect vision burnt away by the coming day,
Enough to make us hate it.
Love, lust, power, and trust;
So near, so dear, so gone: enough to make us hate it.
Night, your rugged slumber stills my wander,
But the splendor of the darktime wonder
Leaves me concrete under the covers.
Hide the sun away,
Nothing is perfect like this is in the day.
No comments:
Post a Comment