23 November 2010

All These Poems Are the Same

All these poems are the same, I think.
They start around midnight,
starlit, ne'erdark summer nights,
or rainy autumn shadows,
or gentle, red-city-glare snowfalls.
Often there's a candle,
soft music playing.
They start in darkness
and silence
and solitude;
solitude above all.
And I wonder at the pull
of shadows and silence upon this heart,
upon this tiny, empty place therein
all but forgotten;
is not Nyx herself my lover, in all her glory?
Could Man possibly yearn for more?
Like a lone wolf
(aye, as much by choice as by fate),
howling, longing for the moon,
I am reminded of the words of a wise man,
spoken long ago:
'If I said you had a beautiful body,
would you hold it against me?'

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