A Window into Night

by David Kent Young

The night, each night erases day.
The light, dear light, it does not stay,
except within the realms of men,
where lamp and flame supplant earth’s way –


an artificial world akin
to life without the night’s chagrin.
Yet, never-ending light conflicts
with slumber’s darkened regimen.


So, with a simple flip of switch
nocturnal instincts find their niche
and I to bed with window there,
return to nature’s lightless pitch.

As anxious mind and body share
elixirs of the midnight air,
I hear the night through screen and pane
and ponder life beyond my lair.

Nocturnal lives abound – engrain
the mysteries of night’s refrain –
coyotes’ howls, or thunder’s roll,
the screech of owls, or blowing rain.

But still the darkness soothes my soul,
while chants of nature take their toll,
and mind and body reach their goal
to meld with night, as night consoles.
(A Rubaiyat)

The Mountain Troubadour 2024, Poetry Society of Vermont