I Bleed The Night

I bleed the night
of the rumbles in rhapsody
rising out of the midnight crypts
like a resurrected soul,
like a stunned metamorphosis caterpillar
bewitched in the sudden spread of wings.

For I am the ear of mortality
hearing every insect grope,
every blossom’s waltz
as they fall deeply into my heart’s membrane
writhe my spirit with their resonance
though the darkness move through
my mental alley of decay.

Yet, there are grays amid the ivory and onyx lines
and it is where the spirit is stained,
it is where the words are born as beasts
whose talons find their targets
in the recesses of my quill chamber.

And ensures the tale of wretched light
where blackness was sovereign
so all the mars are exposed
each story unfolds its treasures
with beauty beguiling in its bewildering array
for truth glows and is followed
through the sewer flooded with diadems of life
because the artist must stroll by sense
feel the precious pangs
that others aren’t curse to consumed.

Then rages the eyes in meandering metaphors
can’t resist their images
so all life becomes a verse
where nothingness is the prayer
to silence the raw, brittle coarseness
from the bowels of earthen existence.

Oh to come there is a rendezvous
dreamt as prophecy,
somewhere on the journey I fall
only without speaking my descent,
being are the postcards of my languishing
amid the power and privilege of unveiling,
perhaps I slipped away
from that stone,
but maybe I just reached to high
until I left behind a shell
while finally fluttering,
crown left as a shadow
whose mark is never removed.