Sunday, 2 February 2014

A poem for the moon-dark eclipse. One dark night pays for all, and tomorrow we awaken to a new dawn.


I think most nights
I dream sweet
Odd dreams
Woven into
Bizarre imaginings.
The kind virgin maidens
Once swooned
And mooned over;
Fools' dreams.

When the sun rises
I take them
And drape
Them around
My shoulders
So when
The harshest light
Of scalding noon
Falls bright and white
And shows too much
(oh every cruel detail.)
Those are the dreams
I use to veil
The harshest
Of my reality.

I have seen
So much of it.
Too much.
And soon, I think,
Will see even more.

Does it make me weak
If I sometimes need
And so long
To believe?
Just for an hour.

Is it too much
To ask that between
This noon and dusk
There be one brief hour
When can I rest my eyes
From bitter sight?
A place to lay
My head and heart.

Most nights I dream,
But not last night.
Last night's Moon
Shone over-bright
And because I am
The thing that I am;
(much as I insist 
on conjuring up
that self-deceiving veil)
My eyes do not fail
To see what is or isn't
As the case may be,
And just as I cannot
Lie to others,
I cannot lie to me.

Last night the moon
Became a mirror
Brightened to a perfect
Sheen by the wine;
Shinning bright
With a pitiless
Mocking light,
And showed me
The cruel reflexion
Of the ill-made-night.

Manuela Cardiga

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