The Night

Stars, so dull and leaden
Hung in the night sky
Like pebbles cast into a pond,
Waiting to sink into inky depths.
Moon, so pale and lifeless,
Nestled among light clouds
In ethereal peacefullness,
As though it awaited the
Arrival of the dawning sun.
Wind, so cold and biting,
Driving most indoors,
Cutting though clothes like Death's scythe,
Laying waste to heart's warmth.

Eyes, so full of light,
Dancing with the fires
That had been extinguished
From the night's sky.
Lips, so full of passion,
Filling the dead night
With life so robust it seemed
To start the moon from reverie.
Breath, so hot and heady,
Never yielding to Death's
Cruel scythe, and breathing
Life once again into
A heart grown cold.