Night

It’s night.
The candle flicks sad
Like the fraud of old age.
I’m tired and young.
Gallant. Arrogant.
I think of the sea.
My ears dream
The rush of waves
The dreaded sea,
The fishermen that fight
For life in the night
While their mothers
Weep alone.
I think of this.
I think of it all.
An insect
In a muddy pond,
A stream that wanders off
In water crystals.
Dark night comes
And I’m lost in its reflection.
My bitterness,
The slumber of a mind
With a memory that doesn’t age.
The candle’s done.
Its brilliance a spasm
Of a dying man.
The agony of pale colors
And yesterday’s news.
My wings are clipped.
Utopia’s done.After “Nocturno” by Pablo Neruda. Not a translation, but rather a paraphrase of his work layered in with some of my own interpretations.

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