POTN 1

POETRY  |  FICTION

Prisoners Of the Night

by Alayne Gelfand, art by M.B.Simon

Night falls --
an anvil on my soul,
a cloak of midnight and iron.
I walk silver threads
and shadows,
slide past sight,
a shimmer then gone.
A silken caress on the
silent heart,
shiver of darkness
in corner of a blind eye.
I am pain and beauty,
vapor of splendor
and mist of knowledge.
I catch moonbeams in tender hands
to spread death gently
upon the flesh of this life,
this glorious other-life,
forbidden yet demanded;
the star-stuff of my soul.
In whispers I call you,
through thick pitch
and amber-light glow.
I call you into shadow,
into this space of half-light
and senses which burn,
burn as the sun would
if I dared defy this cage.
Night falls,
I beckon you to this burden,
draw you to my side
as I pull close the
satin drapes of my cloak
and return to
the heaviness of shadow.