Nights Like This
It’s nights like this: when all the planets, stars align in perfect symmetry - except that special one and two that would have made it what it needs to be.
It’s nights like this: when all the sounds of darkness live in wondrous harmony - except that branch, that breeze that moves without a purpose other than to simply throw things off.
It’s nights like this: when cool and warm meet somewhere on the sea and battle through the silence, stirring up inconsequential waves upon the waters - that are only the beginning of it all.
It’s nights like this: when air brings forth a certain strange philosophy as smells of wet, salt-covered land brings images to mind that would, on any other night, paint beauty on closed eyelids tight but...
On nights like this: it all turns to puppetry - and rag dolls ridden with chipped cheeks, the nights air reeks of rotting fish, and every wish/desire seems to tire with the sun - and as it sets, it sets fire to the innocence - clouds who knew nothing of now are turned into a sinning lot as flames envelope life.
It’s nights like this: when brilliant skies resemble hell and everything, it crumbles, in the resonating silence. The beauty is resilient - and yet everyone is blind.
And as, on nights like this, the sky turns over and birds quickly swim away into the distance: there is no substance in the truth. It’s night like this: when even the perfect picture has a fault, and I can find it, and the ugly turns unthinkable...It’s nights like this.
It’s nights like this: I fight with you.
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