by John G Evans

Created on: July 11, 2010   Last Updated: September 15, 2010

Darkness, darkness, of the Night

Together still, as always with fright!

Your numbness cold lay near my side

As the serpent still, waits to strike.

Soreness harvest’s Midnight’s fear –

Desolate’s chill, so close to God,

So far, so near.

Tempting lusts, the fevers of the dawn, where

Throbbing dust to earthly fill, till

Mine pulsing stare glances privately

Towards the entrance of death -

Within her feathery depths –

Thine soul of stars as pearls of light,

Behold, the dawn of Love, where

Fear has crept.

The dawn of darkness, slowly

In antiquated time, the brilliance of Light –

Forty years of nothingness, still

Has slept.

Moon of despair sheds her lunar glow,

Darkness to darkness, her rhythmic flow –

Blindness of souls to gloom of days,

Visions unfold- the joy awaits.

Oh when dost thou find me, O Mother of Love?

When dost thou send me, in flight above?

Obscurity’s morning, the Light, the dove?

The depths of the dark horse of opaque and black,

Bleeding soul, sequesters itself,

Amongst the thorns of chant –

Serendipity’s cunning beast,

Shadows of doubt ruminate still

Another day, I exclaim, “I can’t!” But will.

II

The courage once held by faith alone,

Slips quietly off into depths unknown,

Strangers kneel in protection of thee.

Some laugh, some cry, unhesitently -

Prayers are quiet, though lifted on High,

Golden light appears, not once but twice.

The siftless night, O darkened Night;

The heart still with ardor of zeal,

O God of Love thine soul’s appeal,

To comfort thee in all thy pain,

Articulates in time, wisdom’s knowledge gained.

But time claims it’s antipathy of self, where

Brazen omens from the sky, courage hidden, though courage remains.

Windstorm’s attack, a frenzied trouble invades,

Though spirit’s wind avails the estate’s benefaction,

Mine soul delights, determined, though perplexed –

To find oneself in word and prose,

Mother bedazzles I, a gift, a spiritual rose.

III

The demon’s gift for the rape of my soul,

Rainfall’s shower, thundersquall’s hearth,

From deep within; the furthest depths, desecrated,

Nature’s eternal laws, wisdom silent,

Ancient plunder of a fraudulent soul –

Poor ravishment, the masses toll.

These thoughts of bliss,

Now lost to hordes of savage beasts,

Possession of souls, now wasted, lay spoiled,

A feast.

As if no care were even there,

This nature’s best, monastic’s breath

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