by Mkuu Amani
This evening,
as I quietly sit alone,
you dark ale,
my night black liquid friend,
are chosen to turn me from the day
and ease me into blissful mindlessness,
so that I may embrace this journey's end
with nothing, more than soft and weightless groan.
In solitude,
as the log fire warms me through.
Its flames spawn spectral figures black and wild
which dance across the walls with dark intent.
You silence,
scarce and formless entity,
consume me in your presence undefiled,
as all around slowly subsides from view.
In mourning,
sorrow feeds me from its breast,
the poison that is smooth and without taste.
Dark Angel,
you have seen my soul arrive
and with this have revealed the ancient path;
a journey I traverse now without haste
which sees me leave behind the emptiest.
This evening,
as I quietly sit alone,
you dark ale,
my night black liquid friend,
are chosen to turn me from the day
and ease me into blissful mindlessness,
so that I may embrace this journey's end
with nothing, more than soft and weightless groan.
In solitude,
as the log fire warms me through.
Its flames spawn spectral figures black and wild
which dance across the walls with dark intent.
You silence,
scarce and formless entity,
consume me in your presence undefiled,
as all around slowly subsides from view.
In mourning,
sorrow feeds me from its breast,
the poison that is smooth and without taste.
Dark Angel,
you have seen my soul arrive
and with this have revealed the ancient path;
a journey I traverse now without haste
which sees me leave behind the emptiest.