Night

Night ached to flee Metropolis
Where sin pervaded and crept like weeds.
With covered eyes and grey-dark mantle
She trembled through its streets.
Lust's toxic flowers burst in flames
Singeing her once glimmering train.
While Death's madness came stampeding
And trampled on all Night's dreams.
Stealthy Greed perused the streets,
Concealed with Night's unwilling aid.
When dawn arrived with glorious light,
Night fled in grateful shame.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

With God's Help

When I was 17, I read a book called Do Hard Things by Alex and Brett Harris. I remember being skeptical at first. Chuck Norris wrote the foreword, so when I was his name on the front cover I immediately thought, "Is this a joke?" It wasn't, though. In fact, that book helped change my life. I learned of other teens who are fed up with low expectations and mediocre achievements, just like I was, and still am. It inspired me to challenge myself to really try and make a difference where I am with what I have.         I am a proud member of the Rebelution, which is the movement the Harris brothers started.  We Rebelutionaries are always asking each other, "What's your hard thing right now?" Mine is a class called Musicianship. Now, for all those non-music majors out there, let me explain. Musicianship is a class which trains the inner ear. Remember that part in The Sound of Music where Maria starts teaching the children how to sing? She uses something called so
Read more

Means Less

I hate Lyme disease. I hate that I will feel great for a few days and then have a day like today where all I want is to hold my head and make people stop asking speaking because it's just so confusing and I don't understand, or can't quite think of the words I want to say. I hate that I don't want to go up the stairs because it's tiring, and I am so fatigued after hours and hours of sleeping. I hate the sense of loss that holds on to me and reminds me of all the things I'm missing out on. I hate trying to build a community when every other week I feel sick and tired and grouchy. I hate how long distance my life has become, with all the people I love scattered across the world. I hate how careful I have to be about sleep. If I don't get enough sleep, my symptoms are worse. When my symptoms are worse, I don't really want to be social. I just want everyone to stop talking and drink tea. Not exactly conducive behavior for making friends. It's
Read more

My Beautiful Scar

      When I was growing up in Brasil, there was one thing I always wanted that nearly every other Brasilian MK had: a tuberculosis shot scar. For years, I played soccer alongside these kids, swam in the river with them, and cooked sausage with them on our camping trips. Whenever I  brushed up against a sweaty body and saw the sun shining on that round indentation, or when I caught sight of a bared upper arm at swim time, or when the firelight lit us up with its flickering glow, whenever any of that happened I wished that I could look down and see a mirror image of the other person's scar. It was more than just a scar. It was a badge of honor in my mind. To be able to see someone else's scar, and then to look down and see an identical one on your body meant you fit somehow. You were one of the clan.        The reason I don't have one of those scars is besides the point. I still grew up there. The scents and sounds of that place are in my soul, and I do not believe they wil
Read more