Wild Is The Night
The night unravels like a tattered black sail,
its edges fraying with whispers of secrets too heavy to hold.
Stars—fractured shards of a forgotten mirror—
pierce the dark fabric,
their cold fire spilling across the sky like the dreams of ancient gods.
A feral wind prowls through the streets,
teeth bared, dragging its claws along rooftops,
tearing through the loose skin of curtains.
It howls a song only the untamed understand—
a hymn to the wild heart of the dark.
In the shadows, trees bow like conspirators,
their gnarled fingers clasped in silent prayers
to the moon, swollen and watching,
a pale hunter with no prey.
It casts its silver snare across the earth,
capturing the restless in its cold embrace.
The river stirs like a dreaming serpent,
its scales catching slivers of starlight,
its voice a low, sibilant chant.
On its surface, echoes of forgotten cities
drift like ghosts—homes swallowed by time,
their stories now the water’s to keep.
The night blooms with the scent of earth and fire,
a heady perfume carried on the wind,
mingling with the sharp tang of salt from the sea.
It is a scent that pulls at the soul’s leash,
urging it to run, barefoot and reckless,
into the uncharted wilderness of the dark.
Wild is the night—
a lover with teeth,
a song without melody,
a beast that wears silence like a crown.
It devours the tame,
leaves them raw,
and baptizes the brave in the fire of stars.
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