Chapter 50: Night Drums

Polishing disdain with cricket sounds
Practicing aim as the drumbeat pounds
So strongly in my brain
Calling me to the night
You’d prefer to watch safely
From a distance of double paned glass
The distant warning of the midnight train
Preparing for a flight
As you inhale fully
And attempt to harass
Me into doing the same
But I get nothing out of this
Save the distraction of you
And echoed cries into my ears
Which bring to mind, so clear
All the thoughts I slew
Just to maintain an accomplice
To have a picture to frame
But I have no taste for the temporary
Satisfactions or sable fur
And while my words may vary
My soul remains impure
I’m a more honest creature
Of the blossoming night
Than the one you read about
Quaking with something other than fright
While some would overstate
The connection to the dark
The constant urge hits its mark
Making a playing nocturne more of a trait
Than could be offered by simple sight
And as you purse black stained lips to pout
I feel the call of the night
Calling goes on endlessly
And you provide little reason to resist
The nocturne’s attempt to enlist
Such a simple creature
Night drums pulling away from sable fur