Night Strings

Black silky cords tie together the images of night
they squeeze them of life
until only madness seems to be seen.

Still the mind resurrects its immortals
from alleys, sewers and unlit rooms
until they scream as ghostly intruders,
unsure if they come from heaven or hell.

Walk a little father into the darkening morass
where the truth lies to be found
not by seeking parrots out of the light,
but by listening to the heart.

In that anguish bleed a little,
smile and embrace the vision
because once they kiss your mind at midnight
life is never the same.