|
Night conceals so much, and reveals only those things that are the strangest. |
|
For there is a time in those hours that even restraint must rest. |
|
It is after that time, that this was written, in hours too early yet far too late. |
|
|
|
|
|
a sonnet for the dead time |
|
|
|
The minutes I take from the long dark night |
|
Those easy tired moments they make me feel |
|
(Despite I know in the morning they’ll bite) |
|
That these hours are ones that from Time I steal. |
|
|
|
It’s solely me that stands there amazed |
|
My mens flies free into that great black realm |
|
The planets and stars shine down their sweet gaze |
|
Of gods long past; my mask, their sight o’erwhelm. |
|
|
|
Staying up late |
|
Watching the dawn |
|
A rest from hate |
|
This man reborn. |
|
|
|
But though all this, I am no misanthrope |
|
For through this beside me, is you, I hope. |