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Open Poetry #4

Weak with the Night

Buzzygirl
Junior Member

since 1999-09-11

Posts 42
St. Paul, MN USA

0 posted 1999-11-12 09:35 AM

I am resting beside my clothes.
I am found wanting again.
It ends. It always ends;
I don’t need to see to visualize.
Then, leaving, once again, empty-handed;
accompanied only by echoes
of quickening sighs.

The night is a well.
The well isn’t deep enough;
each time I think I catch
a glimpse of you at the bottom,
I see you fade; replaced by stars
imbedded in a black banner, waving
somewhere far above my head.

What can withstand or contain
a force, combined and multiplied
times as many years as
it languished in vain; cowering
in a small corner; frightened by being
set apart, waiting
for someone to witness to its
fulminant fire,
formerly borne along great tracts
of a wasteland of thorns?

You, sweetest of souls, could stand
very close; yes, right next to it,
and never once
get burned.

Where is this new land that it craves to burn,
where it tingles, intoxicates, and dances among scents
that are breathed through a mouth of flowers?

That star-encrusted banner of which I spoke
waving overhead as I looked into night’s well
could come down on us, without smothering,
or reducing by half, even a single flame.

My window’s been closed for several days.
The noise I hear’s not coming from outside.

It sounds like the tumult of fast-beating wings–
the bee’s visiting the remains of the hibiscus again;
or is it the drone of a lone evening zephyr
asking a dance of the dead leaves?

Here is my act of compromise.
When I can pick out your form, here,
through the veil of night,
then, and only then
shall I close my eyes.

November 11, 1999

hoot_owl_rn
Member Patricius

since 1999-07-05

Posts 10750
Glen Hope, PA USA

1 posted 1999-11-12 12:22 PM

I like this one Buzzy

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