Looking Through Stained Glass

The Night at the End of the Tunnel


The allure of the indigo blue blossom,
Intrigues the mawkish man.

As if a meandering piece of new night,
Impishly dropped dead center in a quilt of summer sun.

Leaning windward, its impetuousness a burlesque beauty;
Its opaque simplicity a jewel in the torrent of fair foliage.

A fragmentation of native nature,
a specter of his youth the haughty hobbledehoy;
Hails to him like moth to fiery flame.

And he’s swallowed whole at the first tentative touch.

Indigo shadows misconstrue its true quest and its obvious outcome,
For those who dare to dabble in its daunting dark...

...to forever feed

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© 2005 Raivenne (All rights reserved)

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