Prisoner of the Night

Night captures me in a velvet cloak of indigo
studded with the fires of a million blazing crystals
strewn there, like chicken feed,
by the hands of the great creator.

Softly a symphony of crickets and tree frogs
and tiny animals scampering in the underbrush
grabs me from the inky darkness and impales itself
on the thorny spine of my auditory delight.

Sweet and heavy is the air,
a sumptuous repast of pungent pine and night lavender.
I inhale the night until my bulging lungs burst
and bellow out the noxious remains.

The moon hangs low in the sky,
watching and waiting
until the moment it plummets to earth
crushing me in his silvery embrace
My eyes close and I surrender to the night.

©D.W.Rickard 1972