Rebels in the night immersed in the glow of the bright neon light

Surrender to the Night

For we do not know where to go but we trust in the night that everything shall be alright

The rain begins to pour
the air so crisp

If only the world could cease to exist
And leave you and I in this night of bliss.

It still tastes the same.
When I saw the sun,that rose in thy's eyes
Brimming with a passionate love in disguise.
I danced and whirled in my ballet shoes;
Completely abided of what I chose .

I sat at the dawn to count the dews.
It held my hand and dyed me in thy eternal hues.
I sat in the night, with an utmost fright .
The moon whispered the stars to ignite me with a hope of delight.

The colors in me , intensified,
In pain to paradise.
A wound hard to describe.

I crossed thy's path to meet its mornings,
Until I burned my own night.
I defaced my veil of disgrace,
to adore the light.

I fell head over heels in love with thy's scars.
Also Ask the falling star- "How distressed you are?"
"I take pride in my ambit.
I rode ,to fall in thy's tide."
That night,all the other stars cried.

The night light stroked me with an agony of lie.
I tried to rip myself until ,
I knew I was an anchoress to thy.
And I became homeless,
Again,but
In devotion ,
To its illusion.

Perhaps, I came a long way to ask myself - "what do I see for this is surreal?"
A puff of air whispered - "Open your eyes and feel,
It still tastes the same in Real."

I got to wondering today
if I am an old dog
who can’t be taught new tricks
if that windmill going round and round
catching the wind between the blades
is really who I am,
if the universe surges
into the spaces still left in me,
if it is trying to wake the music
yet alive inside
in the curves of my heart,
if the blood pulsing there refuses to go down
in one grave path
and insists on a symphony of swerve
an inclination in a new direction.
If that breeze is really grace
then maybe I am being reborn
a puppy full of life
eager to be all the dog it can be.

Come to me,
and
I promise you
to only feel
eternity.

~
This level crossing--

stick,
sand,
and broken glass,

from naming to numbering,
names tend to define,
numbers are neutral,

they count the roads, follow their shadowside--

flow,
force,
and absorb,

dictated by a candle,
I feel nearer to the surface of us,

motion made of visible memories, arrested in space,

mere unorganized explosions of random energy,
and therefore meaningless--

to fall in love with our progress,
and to be outgrown by it.
~