Renditions of the Night
Midnight, and the whispers begin
Where a familiar darkness settles in
Pavements breathe steam conflicting with the icy air
Metaphors of original sin
Where lovers sing tactile songs of lust and desire
Human embers hotter than any fire
Burning brightly under the stars
In the royal blue and orange wash of the night
Staining the structures of the city
Under a crescent moon
It seems the night has a vanilla grin
That holds the secrets of dusk
Known only to the pious ones that worship the moon
Anointed in midnight oil
Awash with neon and smoke from outdoor bars
or lost in the subconscious of other streets
The subtlety of the trees as they sway to nocturnal beats
The pulse
The rhythmic flicker that is beyond control
And always calling, beckoning to those that know
The excitement carried in mysterious depths
Ingested into thoughts that weave pixels onto digital screens
That stain the sheets of paper reams
Renditions of the night that escape your dreams...
© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.