The deep night doubt at dusk demands
Its claim to time and twitch and trance;
From soul's serenity it takes its stance,
Splintering the place of peace of plans;
Marring, scarring, molten ashes, masks melting 'way;
Grimacing, crying, heart-felt glaring, grin turning gray.
The time it takes til turn hath passed;
Showing, sharing the face that squints and shies;
Blistering, swearing the lips that lisp and lie.
Going strong- good as a dog- with each word gasped;
Shaking, hurting, proverbial howling, at the harvest of humanity;
Prodding, fracturing, frenzied panicking, at the frailest of fragility.
It takes its toll til dreams are trapped,
Nagging and bragging through the night,
Fearing and fleeing the coming light;
When riling by, the restless rest with knuckles rapped,
Sending, flying, relentlessly sighing, slipping from sobriety;
Drifting, wading, even disappearing, dangling from the Deity.
Until auburn waves amble awake,
And the scarlet hope of dawn begins,
Dismissing watery tears and fears within;
For the sacred masks don't slip for sake,
Showing, exciting, especially shining, free with words;
Breaking, escaping, eventually bantering, flying as 'prisoned birds.