Let Creation Set You Free: Cigarettes in the Night

In the late hours of
the evening
with screaming, crying,
and labored breathing
Hands of
lightning zinging,
the Mind
busily working,
yet drifting
still disassociating
along the trestles of my bed.

The sway and bounce,
bustling, and teeming
the radiance
of Life,
silently quelling.
Apis, a Monarch
reduced to worker
reduced to slave
eviserated to
gangly being,
a ghost
invisible
along the trestles of my bed.

Once upon a time
where feet once
dangled,
gilded and laud;
where shadows met contours
embracing their
stage;
a juncture of
movement and space.
A silken body draped
in satin
and candle lit spill,
enchanted
by the rhythm
of breath
along the trestles of my bed.

Within satin sheets
and dimly lit
walls bound
by universal
secrets,
unwritten or whispered.
Holding the mysteries,
betwixt and aligned
of rapturous
revival
and static, idle nights
shrouded
along the trestles of my bed.

Thrashed and wasted
spirit and heart
waiting, wanting
for a portent
to warm, to heal
to know all is not for naught.
In the broken
starlight,
with detached eyes
through disheveled hair,
the waft of cloves
and burning
cigarettes
clouded
along the trestles of my bed.

Waiting,
Ever
Waiting
along the trestle of my bed.

In the twilight hour
of the Sun's gentle
rising, the wind's light caress
finds defeated brow
in hand.
And, the susurrus of
sweet, balmy dew
echoed
a fire kindling,
for love and hope
that is
only found
along the trestles of my bed.


© 2014 DNKG Cigarettes in the Night