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.


10 thoughts on “The Land of Night

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