A.M.

Night flourishes in a veil of city lights

jewels of night, flickering lights, gleaming bright

Silently acting in the prism refracting their spite

and lost in traveling dreams to the altar of night.

 

Gazing over streets, strewn across the towers.

Winds shriek for hours in pale winter showers,

a vent releases its warming scent to scour

the haunting view of this gilded flower.

 

Weep for the ghost, the drunkard toast

whose spectral light wanders the night

searching the surface, shining in white,

grasping the door and looking across the floor

for some form of reminder or memory.

we’re lost in the lights of a beautiful night

 

Whose is the soul climbing to their Tintagel, 

clasping their blade from a sparkling glade?

Whose is the body emerging from the dream?

A silhouette of a moonlit dame in her floral frame,

icicle tears and their melting peers.

and so it was that the lights exit at dawn.