Pleasure of Words

The blazing heat of the day  dies Sun dims in a faint orange glow. Conceived in the dusky delight, as the colours of twilight dissolve in darkness, from the late evening's pregnant womb,  the night is born  Children frolicking under the street light return home as darkness falls As their carefree laughter echoes afar the night is born Old man on a beachside bench  his pale eyes staring into blankness as the racous waves roar under the moon light the night is born  Shirt sleeves rolled up, buttons undone  caressing the stubble,  tiplers scurry into  watering holes of the town. As they drink, fight and puke the night is born  She lets her hair loose reminiscing the long last togetherness she let's a plaintive sigh of despair As the garish glow of the screen falls on her face the night is born He gazes the sky without stars turns the book down, taps the piano keys as he gulps the last drink of the day the night is born It is an end and a begining, both hope and despair, for it i

Weariness of a late-summer afternoon  Delightful hues of the dusk Leaves ruffling under the autumn moon A nameless night  Raining on empty roofs  Blank  wordless walls in fright Splintered debris of dezires In Glowing gloomy embers Growling In Dying despair Shadows of the passing Moments Weighing down the being Burried under Blowing waves of  torments Searing inferno on  hell's doorway Dainty damsels on heaven's stairway Oscillating  is the heart midway Deserted streets damned and dank A Dog howling in a shreik staring At the lament list long and blank Nothing to blame  Nothing to become  I, the fool, continue to Be