Is art the brush across the canvas,
Or the pen across paper, the person
Who enacts and enthralls a crowd?
Is it the pounding heart, the moving limbs
Assembling each piece in sequence, Or
Perhaps the minds that shape each facet?
I don't know much of art, or of love, or
The many wonders of the vast world,
But I know my heart yearns for creation
Even as worlds crumble all around

A mysterious sign, this errant warning
Weighing heavy now in late evening
The moon is rising over dark horizons
To chase the mourning light of sun
Moon of mine, heaven's reflection above
What lives have led us to this ruin?

For years, the darkness had encroached
until it stole all my vision, restless thoughts
But when I lay my weary head to rest
And set my soul to slumber, my body
Can remember that which once was
When my eyes were open and they saw,
They could truly see, and I,
With open eyes, now witness
The world and its beauties
Eyes gazing majestic upon
Sights and colors rebounded
Until the light of the dawn
Chases away the vestiges of
My visions of twilight glory

Creaking steps echo
They stretch down dark halls to me
Enraptured in fear

Gilded in glittering gold, our cold city
Sitting mournfully by the anchoring roots
Of the farthest reaches of the world
For once there was light, long ago
And a seed was placed here to grow
The city towering over the glory of life

Life came to outgrow it, in time
And the glories of the sun felt fainter
As it followed the ascent of the world
Now cast from past valor, our city
Will glower from its forgotten pit
In the once gleaming heart of creation

Sitting here, on the floor of my room
Alone, as the night closes in all around
Thoughts often stray to the darkest places
As if one with the shadows all around

I fear, though what I fear, I also fear to say
To name that dread thing which lingers just
Beyond the borders of my sight in odd hours
When perhaps I ought to let sleep guard me

The hours keep on creeping along, like drops
Of a cosmic singing burst out across time
No hour meant for life, or death to be alone in
No better rhyme than this to put to poem then

The window sill creaks
I pretend not to notice its cries
While I work at my desk in the night
For the morning comes,
In my own bleak mind
Too quickly for comfort.
There is much more to be,
Things caught in the dark
We have but yet to see
And I’ll sit here til the break,
Dawn’s early luminescent rays;
Let them change me now
Give me what I seek