The dark night of the mind

Still the night goes by
As time seems both to fly
And wait eternally
Beneath the darkened sky.
Still the bard won’t try
To pluck a soft caressing tune
In this poor silent heart of mine.
The birds won’t chirp,
The poet won’t rhyme,
Nor will the rivers from the moon
Flow with their waters in attune
With my most intimate desire.
Must I – dare I ask –
Remain this way, so never thine,
Lost in a conscious lonely glare
Held yet unshared, forever mine?
In nights like this,
So cold and gloom,
I reminisce of gone-by days
And think of all the better ways
I could have basked in their embrace.
Yet, truth be told,
In days long gone
I also felt without a place,
As if still happiness and grace
Were somewhere else I had to chase.
And though I loved your tender eyes,
And warmed my skin between your thighs,
Still then I felt as if unloved
Beneath the mask of your disguise.
For now I know this night of mine
Hides not the heavens’ sweet design:
‘Tis a darkness that encloses
My own mind – as if thorns could smother roses
And then weep for their demise.
And though today I crave for love
Hoping it comes from high above,
These nights I ask before the gods
That they may bless me
With an even greater fate:
To be unveiled
And, unashamed, released at last
From my own thorns

And this deep everlasting wait.