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What is night?

The absence of light,

the smoke after the last put out spark,

once red, now a greyish blight?

What is night?

Is that your concept?

Just fading fire, no flame to see,

same as your thoughts of what could and couldn’t be?

Is this night?

Closing doors at tunnel’s end,

finite lives being not well spent,

devouring your existence at the ruins of self-built monument?

This is night!

Not recognizing image in the mirror

of abyss’s glee,

as your whole conscience fades to black

and you completely cease to be.

Absorbed.

Lost.

Consumed,

in your entirety.

And then even a spark shines brightest.

Every little blink lights whitest,

every match starts a tempest.

And even the star that seemed the farthest

is a beacon driving you

through the darkness.

So dim down the candle

and pull down the handle.

Even though the noose

at first does strangle,

this night shan’t leave you

in shambles.

For you can fight but cannot flee,

for the gates of night there is no key.

Only the radiance of the smallest light will plea for

your sight,

your path,

your soul,

and your entirety.