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For What Ails the Night

By

Justin St. Pierre

For Allison Lee Nisbet


Alas! What manner of thing is it
Which to an untrained eye
May seem omnipotent
A force that may so freely
Manipulate the sky?

Is it unreasonable to postulate
That man's most ancient plight
Is the crude and eerie stillness
That comes masked by the guise of night?

And isn't it so
That in this deception
Disillusion spawned
From the melting of Color and shade
That a man may feel the icy breath of terror
On his neck as the daylight begins to fade?

And what of the creatures
That can be so freely associated
With the darkness and the silence
That nature's womb hath made?

The stealthy rodent with wings
The vermin of plagues
Or even that a wasp
May bring a touch of fear
Poison unto the day

And what other pains
May breed like an active culture
As the sun weeps and dies
And recedes into its vast sepulchre
That is the sky

The loss of the girl
Which brings about
The torment of the soul the mind!
Like a hunter's game
Hurt
Bleeding
Mortally wounded left to die!

Yet Hell hath no fury
Like that which is my heart
Ne'er have I met you angel
But somehow you've won my heart

And ne'er can the solitude
The vile clutches 
Of night and its pain
Make these tears worth nothing
Like blood shed in vain

You are the sun's avenging spirit
So innocent so pure!
Whatever unholy affliction ails the night
You surely are its cure

Through weakness am I not a slave to the night?
These feelings I cannot explain
Soon I hope to be with you
Save me from this loneliness and pain

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