Poem

THE BEARER OF THE NIGHT.

The house had me trapped, trapped bad,

Trapped mad, trapped a tad- a tad too tight;

There were dinner guests that night, the room was bright;

But the house became unto me the bearer of the night.

 

Painted faces, seemingly inhumane, though-

I was unsure of what they were here to gain;

Was it food or food for thought, or thought-

From me, “Am I scary?” I questioned internally,

As we sipped the wine and drank.

 

Drank to things they had heard, on the news-

This or that, those deaths, those children;

That fire and beautiful parade-

As I poured to each guest I guessed-

Of what their minds were truly made.

 

Of things, they had a lot, a gadget and a star;

Some had bought one named after them-

And some’s minds seemed so adrift and far that one they had become.

 

 

 

I was sharing this house, a tad trapped inside,

Though outside were their houses, their lives;

And to me it seemed, their houses too, were-

The bearers of the night-

For it was not their houses nor minds that elicited my fright-

But that the Earth was making her plight;

She will become, as some have said, as I have told you now-

A dusty red mess, with bodies laid unrest, void of light-

The Bearer of the Night.

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