The Good Evening Melancholy

The Good Evening Melancholy

The melancholy of the evening
Hits me hardest on this day, today
The usual shrapnel of a faraway bomb
Replaced by the ticker and the beater
Inside my chest and sleepy eyelids, today

The conquest of my world is lost
The armies I command draw no fire, today
Left out on the open plain, the open drain
They celebrate the battle they have not yet fought
Inside themselves, as they prepare for the rot, today

Not today
The rot, not today
They say after me, not today
They say with eyes unblinking
They say with their widest grins
They say, not, today

The games played by the mind and the minds
The faceless words and the epithets
The grins of a thousand toothless faces
They always knew, not, today

This melancholy and the memories
Littered with today's songs and monologues
I see a change in the leaves of a distant continent
The change of seasons and change of hearts
I see it before it sees that I've seen

The melancholy of a dusty evening of changing seasons
I've seen it all

-x-x-x-

© Parched For Rain

The Night Sheep's Wool

The Night Sheep's Wool

Its been a while since a night like this, funny
Has kept me awake
Been counting sheep and wolves and the lot
Those things that were never
Or ever did they belong where I thought them to

A myopic fate dreams of a parallel universe
Where nothing tunes out
Nothing breaks the harmony, nothing rots
Just as I traverse through
Its spring, and fall beckons too through the carpet

The mosaic of flowers, of faces and shadows and ...
And images that blur my sight
Hazy memories and witnesses who ask their due
They were a part too
Of a story they recall distinctly as being untrue

There are questions I ask, to no one in particular
The whys and why-nots mostly
Where and how matter less, questions of a lesser appeal
To a lost night, a lost story
The author of a smile mischievous and motive unknown

The author of this story was a hunter
He tamed wolves and hawks
And on a steed he came, galloping, high head
Wind through the hair
As I lay grasping the last pages of his book

The questions remain, the whys and why-nots
Entwined in unchaste knots
The knots counted by a ship that sails far east
And into the west, why?
They say the earth is round so, a spheroid

It does not matter to me, it should not rather
As for where do I stand
The earth remains steady - it always has
The sky shifts - tell me why?
No, tell them, tell the people out there

Tell them that its never night, I'm never asleep
The bed-sheets never crumble
The dreams they never have seen, nor have I
The sheep and the wolves are real
And I - the stand of wool that was lost in the hunt

-x-x-x-

© Parched For Rain

Other Late Night Escapades @ Parched For Rain:

Kerb || A Walk On A Still Night || Summer Night || Tonight