After Dark....

Bedside lamps click 

and drop a cloak 

of black across 

thoughts sundry roads

…imagination, loneliness; 

the highs and lows 

that living goads

Some touch each other; 

some turn backs 

toward the middle 

of the bed

Some lie awake 

and toss and turn; 

some sleep as soundly 

as the dead

We live in two worlds, 

one by day,

the other be

-neath dark of night

One full of color 

and the other 

charcoal-gray 

and black and white

One wears the pounding 

feet of people 

as they hasten 

to and fro

The other wears 

a world of sounds 

save in the pallid 

streetlight’s glow

 Yellow rectangles 

let in people 

when the dark 

opens a door

The world is full 

of brick-wood houses; 

homes are made 

of something more

The dark is not 

an idle gossip; 

its secrets 

few can beguile

…the mouth is not 

a fool-proof closet; 

though some think so 

for a while

Bedside lamps click 

and drop a cloak 

of black across 

the end of day

Some turn to nurse 

their curs-ed fears 

while others turn 

to God and pray

And here and there 

the dark is sparked

 with bits of talk, 

then none at all

And here and there 

the dark is marked 

with sorrow-stars 

that stilly fall

© Janet Martin