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If stars could weep, they would shower tears of sparkling fire to rain upon the earth and steal the night. No more does eve contain the satin solitude of peace. Just empty moments filled with darkness, crippled thoughts. A purgatory until the day is born. Wrapped in ghostly cloak of singing crickets and Mockingbird songs, I stroll within the damp stillness in search of solace. Heavy is the scent of wetted earth and flowered branch. Spring has torn the world from winter's icy crypt. On the horizon are scarlet fingertips, timidly touching, like a virgin but with more experience and courage, pushing back the night. I throw off the cloak and breathe in the coming dawn. |