Twas a night drawn without a dawn,
the stars aglitter, on and on,
like fireflies confused in the gloom,
souls seeking light beyond the tomb,
beseeching a Grace now bygone,
a Grace with light like cloudless dawn.

I heard a priest preach a pretty psalm
that seemed a soothing blossom balm,
he prayed for such light from his God
as could dispel the shades in Nod,
yet, there was no light, hope, or alm
but flames that smoldered in Sodom.

O, the abyss blackens our sight
and Grace burns with such wrathful light
that beseems a reprieve denied,
a contrast as vast as though pride
in both overbears with such might
that expanse is but black and white

with naught between save a thin line
that allows but for “yours” and “mine”
writ by the contrast of the twain
which is not a bridge, nor a plane,
of breadth enough to tread so fine
as unseen, made of cobweb twine.

Therefore seek out the twilit eyes
to elude all, contrariwise—
know the freedom of a season
borne from desire and from reason,
emerge from the cocoon of lies
and flutter free in gloaming skies.