Ode to Night

Bathing the World in her malignant grace,
Wiping light off the planet’s face,
Night screams in ecstasy as she glides by,
Stealing the vision from every eye,
Drawing men into her black fire,
And forcing them to submit and retire.

Men do scream, and men do shudder,
Their dry lips freeze stiff in mid-utter.
Seized by tormenting, festering fear,
They abandon thought of everyone dear,
And become bereft of thought and reason,
To the extent of perpetrating treason.

And Night laughs on with echoing mirth,
And all-consuming fear takes another birth.
The stars flicker like candles extinguished
And voice sadly and weakly an overdue wish
Of peace and courage and valor—such rot
Which Night’s presence reduced to nought.

The jovial Moon tries to have some fun,
And imitates the manner of the fallen sun,
Teasing mortals with her silver light,
And retracting it when they have enough sight,
To realize that they need much more to see
And admire Beauty in all its majesty.

Since years forgotten Night has been maligned,
And shall continue to be hated till the end of Time.
But what people in their ignorance fail to see,
Is her enormously obvious necessity:
That without Night they should lack
Any farfetched hope of turning back:

That Night protects people by bestowing repose,
Conceals them from whatever they oppose,
And forces their stalkers to grope around blind,
And repays their malevolent deeds in kind,
And showers the world with her benignant grace,
And prepares mankind for brighter days.