Darkest Is The Hour

Starry is the night.

This pain I’d spare for change.

Accept it or reject it,

it’s either way the same.

Misty comes the morning.

An afternoon of rain.

It’s quiet in the evening,

but isn’t that the way?

To offer one protection.

A coat from bustling wind.

If only could my doorstep,

provide the warmth within.

Though darkest is the hour.

The brightest star may fall.

I dare not wish upon it,

but marvel still in awe.

How elegant it sounds.

Sweet agony by dawn.

When days aren’t worth repeating,

who am I in your sky?

Dying in her arms I’m happy

I see my reflection

through the tangles

from the window

of her eye, suppose

she’s figured out the angles

I’ve been playing,

oh but she’s the kind of femme fatale

worth saving, because lately

there’s a wall built higher than my own good

for, protection

oh but how it all comes crumbling down

the instant, she walks in

where dying in her arms I’m happy

Mural, St. Pete