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

Let Creation Set You Free: Poetry

Without Notice

They see you standing there
tall, firm and resolute.
They know you will weather
The Storms
for the rings of the Rind
reveal your inner strength.

They see you standing there
bright, budding, and creating.
They know you will yield on
The Lives,
for the seedlings surrounding
are the scion of this forest.

They see you standing there
shading the lovers whose season of passion
is concealed by your arms and legs, twisted.
The Secrets
for your eyes alone bear witness
to the lust we all share.

They see you standing there
burning, emblazoned, a sweeping rekindling
halted in time to preserve
The Moments.
They relish in next year's glory
while you prepare, cleansing
your days in the chilled rain.

They see you standing there
barren, naked, and vulnerable
with nothing left to offer.
The Lamented.

A white blanket is the only solace given
in the dreary dead of night.

They see you standing there
tall, firm and resolute
they believe you have weathered
The Storms.
Your covering lie on the ground, supported and loved
by only the green moss and water wells
that, from the depths, nurtured your
solo existence.

They believed your deeply sunk roots would survive,
"you're so beautiful" and

They walked on...

If only they could see the heart of you, perhaps then,
they would understand your stoic example.
If they could see the heart of you, perhaps then,
they would understand that in your dying,
you gave them life.

DNKG Without Notice 2014 ©