The Land of Night

White hair; hand in hand.

Cobbles bubbling underfoot.

In and out of those mellow streets.

Looking for a place to rest our weary heads.

 

A moment, and only one.

A story, linear in structure.

Start to beginning – irreparably unchangeable.

 

Headlights, street lamps, stars;

It does not matter.

For her hand is cradled within my own,

And too, that spark inside my chest.

 

Though, it is a figment, a twinkle in consciousness.

Reality’s benevolent, illusive friend.

Yet, the feeling, it is anything but.

That inner glow, burning, luminous.

 

Under trees, and beneath flickering lights.

A city awake in the deepest hours of night.

A vessel to portray my inner thoughts.

 

With her hand, and her hair,

That unrivaled feeling that cannot compare,

Electrified in such a place,

Simply waiting for the moment,

When it might all fall from grace.

And then, what is one truly left with?

As the Land of Night fades.

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10 thoughts on “The Land of Night

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