sitting in his chair

waiting on the darkness, like a drug

sacred, the visions of the gods draw nearer

when the light falls below horizon

closer, ever closer to solving mysteries of a thousand nations

if he only had the time

between the need to rest and the need to explore

two yins, never the yang to complete the balancing act of the brain

wondering, hoping, feeling the helplessness of a child

in the fight to know his place

among the earth

among the stars

the Hollywood heads have nothing

their twinkles born from man,

the natural heavens from science

and maybe some mystical magic

his blues apparent  but his interests compound

maybe one leads to the calling

the purpose, the point of the presence on earth

but perhaps it’s all just a fool’s errand

like the rock that claims gold

to the uninitiated


so he kills his time

murders with precision

courts won’t prosecute

for the brain has judged a million times

the habits of the professional

too scared to change, too easy to stumble

over his own damn shoes

and the mistakes he’s made

are the lessons of time

that have gone unheeded

and get repeated

his moans, his attempts at resolution

seem like nothing

petty like the bourgeois

who’ve no clue of the revolution


caring only for their tea and cake

while at the gate the peasants stew

for it’s their only sustenance


he thinks of these long forgotten moments

memories of times since past

historic persona

but the interest lies not in the facts

but the stories

as he tries to tell his

lost in the pale moonlight

the old time phrases of yet older men

the young

buried deep within the glow

of connected screens to an outside world

ruled by the comment

the like, the view

carefully curated  museums

we know everything and nothing

and prefer it that way

he begs

he pleads

for the root of his commotions

as the dark arrives

prime time hour

nothing to hide from

the distractions of a modern day


and he’s forced to act

forced to confront

the failings of the body and mind

and which are his

and which are nature’s

the original sins of the human creature

the brain zooms

the engine purring

he’s quick to pop it into gear

no one around to counteract

to make him consider the parking brake

he’s restless

once again

denied the nectar of understanding

or perhaps just deaf

the headphones blasting their chosen melodies

but sealing everything else out

so he sits and wonders

and shuffles his feet

and feels how alone

he’s made himself

half willing, half fate

chances opened

became choices befallen

by misbegotten apprehensions

or maybe not

it’s impossible to tell


He whispers to the gloom

linked so often

with devilish implications

but maybe the specifications

were wrong

written in a different language

his dark the home of godly aspirations

the moment of calm

often the clarion call

of organized religious song

for the faithful

but his choir is gone

away for the moment

leave a message and maybe

they get back to you


but the night wears on

and as he grows weary

his ultimate understanding still just the stuff

of shimmering oases

over piles of sand

parched with thirst

but maybe that’s the point

the answer elusive

or completely unknown

‘cuz if quickly answered

the curtain will fall

the striving for living is asking

to keep on the road

for as long as the gas tank is full

and when it depletes

our cars gently drifting

we hope

to the sides where abandoned

we join the mass of the forgotten

bequeathed to all

if we’re lucky we’re named

to the casting call

of history’s director

but the scripts grow old with wear

and tear

and their dust floats upon the wind

to exotic calls

and we’re heard from

no more

and so does he let  sleep

wash over

he fades into the contentment

and hope for the arrival of the coming day

through refreshed eyes

©2016 Daniel Cuthbert

































2 thoughts on “Nightcap”

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