The Thirst of a Dark Night

In the days of slavery and the saving grace involved, we imbibed a darkness that never really left us . . .

The Thirst of A Dark Night ~

{Civil War Days} 

 

The thirst of success rides through me-

And I never really know why,

Save for that this thirsty,

Blood-fire,

Is born in the blood-fire,

Of subservient,

Messy people

That leave their tracks,

Where we can pick up the shadows,

And-

That after the midnight,

They twinkled away into starry blackness,

And I will stand,

Alone, and cold,

Wrapping my thickened shroud about me,

In the heat,

Of the night-

Black demons-

The footsteps of all those,

Crazy mad servants,

Of the sweat and the drone,

Of lateness,

And people singing-

‘Go Down To- ’

What was it again?

‘Egypt’s Land?’

Will there ever be a land,

That the slaves consider,

To be safe?

From all bondages,

Of this life that we hold-

Dear-

Not dear to us-

Not dear to these I assure you,

Yet their voices mingle,

Into the bloody night,

Where a fire is stoked,

That can never be subdued-

We are all, still,

Paying-

With blood-covered scythe-like remnants-

We still own,

From that time-

Refugees of the escape-

In the dark of night-

We will eternally bear the fire.