The Close of Night

Christening the bleak of grey;

The paradox of dark and day,

Confined to single Moment’s blush

for longer light the earthly lust.

Is a time now, gone and past

Never to return to us--

but as a play wait in the next.

And so, until then there shall rest

within the shadow lurking there

until the close of Silver’s glare.

A briskness in the air shall be;

A sigh the ground itself shall heave

To welcome in the martyred sight

Of Sun’s rare gleam: contained contrite.

Hid in orange countenance,

The plague of guilt in present, is.

To down below a bashful peek

To witness Human purity

And watch it leave as soon as rises

we forget the dawn behind us.