Melancholy of the Night

Thu, 08/18/2016 - 22:00 -- qqwwrr3

Footsteps tapping lightly against the road beneath my feet,

I walk under the streetlights; across concrete rivers I leap-

 

Spotlight on! Dancing under the orange light

with nothing but the buzzing of insects to accompany me with their flight.

And so I go on foward

deep into that unseen night.

 

The wind rustles in the bushes behind me,

its cool touch tickling my skin.

I shiver in delight, or maybe surprise;

for the moment, the wind is my kin.

 

The road ends suddenly, at the base of a hill

and there stands one last streetlight.

Standing tall, solemn, unfazed:

a disapproving parent.

 

It gazes at me with its one glowing eye

and for a moment I feel an urge to stop -

but the wind blows the grass and sings an alluring song

and I know I must go to the top.

 

The grass sways all over the hill,

a midnight dance without invites.

And although the way ahead is dark and dim,

I go foward into that unknown night.

 

The climb is steep, but each step might as well be

one freed from the omnipresence of gravity.

For as I go into the dark night,

the dark night calls out to me

until I finally make it and see

 

Silence.

Stillness.

 

I am alone.

 

I stand for a while, savoring the air,

Thoreau's isolation made repeat.

The stars consume me, and the darkness cloaks me,

and for that instant: I am free.

 

 

 

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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