She's feeling so lonely this Monday night,
Wish someone could hold her so tight.
She's sitting in the darkness with the flashlight,
God wasn't right, she's tired of keeping fight.

She doesn't want to wake up tomorrow morning,
She doesn't want to go somewhere, she doesn't want to go,
It feels like your own soul is burning,
And you are sick of sinking in flow.

My dark queen,
My darlin',
Just lay yourself down,
Don't care about anything around,
Close your eyes and feel the skies,
You need to get some rest,
You know you did your best.
My dark queen,
My darlin'.

Even when the marble statues will come to life,
She won't want to go out her room to the light,
'Cause she was made to create strife,
She knows that and she is dead inside.

Ah! Drop your prejudice and hear
I lost my love, fortnights ago
My weeping tears dried-up
Searching for my last name.
With solo flashlight wandering
Among scattered droplets of war.

The Endeavors of Lips
by Michael R. Burch

How sweet the endeavors of lips—to speak
of the heights of those pleasures which left us weak
in love’s strangely lit beds, where the cold springs creak:
for there is no illusion like love ...

Grown childlike, we wish for those storied days,
for those bright sprays of flowers, those primrosed ways
that curled to the towers of Yesterdays
where She braided illusions of love ...

"O, let down your hair!"—we might call and call,
to the dark-slatted window, the moonlit wall ...
but our love is a shadow; we watch it crawl
like a spidery illusion. For love ...

was never as real as that first kiss seemed
when we read by the flashlight and dreamed.

Published by Romantics Quarterly and The Eclectic Muse (Canada). Keywords/Tags: Childhood, children, bed, bedtime, story, flashlight, kiss, goodnight, dreams, pleasures, lips, fantasy, illusion

"Toda la noche hago la noche. Toda la noche escribo. Palabra por palabra yo escribo la noche"
-Extracción de la piedra de la locura, de Alejandra Pizarnik

La luna riela en las olas de los gemidos de mi viento.

La noche se torna amarga en el nacer del día
pues su muerte llena al corazón solitario de alegría.

Alejandra y yo escribimos mejor por la noche,
para la noche,
en la noche.

Alejandra ya no está con nosotros pero su noche es eterna en mi dicha.

Podríamos haber sido amigas,
compartir alguna noche;
pero la muerte nos separa,
su muerte,
su noche.
Este es un canto a las almas perdidas en la noche.
En nuestra noche.
La noche mía y de Pizarnik y de tantos otros.
Espero verte
al
nacer
el día.

//

"All night I make the night. All night I write it. Word for word I write the night."
-Extracting the stone of madness, by Alejandra Pizarnik.

The moon shimmers on the waves of the moans of mi wind.

The night is turned bitter at the birth of day
for its death fills the lonely heart with joy.

Alejandra and I write better at night,
for the night,
in the night.

Alejandra is no longer with us but her night is endless in my joy.

We could have been friends,
sharing some night;
but death does us part,
her death,
her night.
This is a song for the souls lost in the night.
In our night.
This my night, and Pizarnik's and son many others'.
I hope to see you
at
the birth
of day.

I feel safer when it's dark
just knowing your nearby
that I might have within my reach
a little piece of sky

you light my way when I get lost
brighten up my day without a cost

the dark would overtake me
if ever we should part
you are my flashlight
you light up my heart