(Untitled)

[machina_sonata]

Inside, fluorescent
Sterile and lukewarm
The hum of coursing light
That speaks and says nothing at all

Outside, abyssal nights
Like a TV screen in the window
Set to an empty channel, muted
And played in a darkened home

Comments

[iceasetoamaze]

As usual, your words are like a slap of butter to my tastebuds - rich and luxurious after a week of I Can't Believe It's Not Butter!! (c) or whatever.

What do you think of this?

Plum footed, the night walks slowly,
Unhesitant in robbing lively sun of her shining glory.
Shadows lengthen, pooling under soles, unhurried.
Night can stand to wait, though he dares to dream, to walk with steady sprawling features
To meet that illumination.
Tremulously he may make ready to grasp the unknown, ink staining
Cold slipping silently in his tread.
His final reach, a thrust of silence, compelled by a burst of gold and crimson
Violetly doused, a dream to be.

I trust your instincts with words like no one else. Forgive me for foisting a fledgling on you. :/

[machina_sonata]

I enjoy it :D