The Window

The Night was as black as the sight of the blind.
Darkness rose, left right and behind.
The Sky delighted in struggles of red,
Several shapes of blue negotiating to be dead.

 

Small chequered windows were mauling in Light,
As razor-blade blackness painted o'er the Fright.
The gaping Mouths potential to sim'rin and glow,
When all of a sudden they were turned down low.

 

They didn't realise the Dawn had come
With its measuring gauntlet and airs of the Sun.
Rising Ascent heavy, like the strokes of a dove
Or a white raven, decreeing “Enough is enough!”

 

The fireworks of the Day were bugled and called;
Alas 'twas established to create Ascension or Fall.
Close or further from the impossible Polygon;
Is it upon this very ground that I tread myself upon?