Only half-lit was the night, by not the twinkles, but the checkered crescent.
The night begged for more, but the half-shaped whiteness would not relent.
“Persevere and wait you must for the full bright to arrive O black night.
For to swim the ocean depths, must you first know the cold’s bite”
In patience, the night now learned to wait,
to taste the seconds of time, to flirt with every minuscule moment of fate.
to not look over, but to look within,
to ignore the itch of forward, to look at loss with a grin.
A fortnight hence passed, the night had aged,
not in time as much, as much more in sage.
With a ready gaze now, with a learned eye,
the night awaited the full moon shine to dazzle by.
She arose now to the night that had waited,
spreading bright and brazen and strong onto the night’s breath that bated.
With renewed vision now from the times of plight,
the Earth below shone like crystal to the night.
The checkered full circle of white now bid adieu,
to a protege with grander vision, with a grander view.
With time for the small, with time for the right.
With schemes for love, over schemes for might.
If the above piece (for a lack of understanding literary classifications) seems in any way absurd, I would attribute that to the circumstance under which it was penned.
23,700 ft in the air, while on a plane between continents, packed between two elderly ladies with a penchant for loud snores, without any connection to the internet, I was left with just a pen in my hand and the Time magazine from the duty-free.
To kill time, I watched a movie called A Good Year. The movie was meh to say the least, but the music score was brilliant and inspiring. With nothing else to do, it got me thinking, and then thinking a bit more, only to finally pick up the pen before me and rile the pages of the Time magazine with 3 minutes of ink spewing in the form of words.
So with that little afterword, I say again: If the above piece (for a lack of understanding literary classifications) seems in any way absurd, I would attribute that to the circumstance under which it was penned.