An incandescent night lamp rules.
Fraught with moths perforating his kingdom-
A meteor shower in my bedroom.
Its solitary yellow radiance
Skewers perception into
Lengthened, dark parallelograms,
That squat, cowering beneath their casters
Lowly, demure, overlooked.
Accentuating majesty for some,
Others, exagerrating beyond credulity.
A rocking chair thus set in motion
Plays ringmaster, morphing its servant from
Boat to rectangle to seamless line-
Periodic, methodical, sublime.
Naked puppets, these lightless snippets.
Dolls suspended by shackles
Of form and matter,
Guided by their tangible projectiles,
Emulating, as seasoned mimers.
Such is the strangeness
Of this inescapable friendship,
That the servant is omnipotent as the Almighty,
Unless the Owner
gets destroyed.
Who would have imagined,
In the most humdrum of nightly routines,
A scene so intricate,
A comedy so tragic?
I certainly wouldn't.
For until I observed these mocking couplets
Of dark-skinned shadows, and their master objects,
I had assumed, as everyone on this planet-
That Nature,
did not disfavour
Black against colour.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
Blots
Poesía[On hold] Key: |Straight Brackets| - Poetry. \Tilted Brackets/ - Passionate, Vaguely Poetic Prose or Free Verse. ~Wave Brackets~ - Poetry specifically between 1 and 3 sentences in length. ☆☆ For everyone, Who finds, Not in a graveyard or cretamorium...
