Title: L'ange de nuit
by Natalie from Wales | in writing, poetry
You know him,
The name with the capital D
Which draws your
Tremulous euphemisms.
You can't look into his face,
Can you?
Crowded round the bedside
In a shared dread,
Cold,
You sense him stretch
His hand
As lines run flat.
The desperation in your
voice he could
Never understand,
The ghost he carries close
to his chest
Like it was his own child.
Safe outside a wired shell
And sleepy poisons.
The stars are white beneath
His feet, his face far
From grim.
He smiles sometimes
When he's spoken to,
His name used quietly.
The seconds never
sleep and neither
does he,
Slipping through disaster
and sleep in an
outward breath.
His arms are warm
And dreaded.
From under his cloak of
shadow, the bare
whisper of time falls
In grains of sand,
Your name.
Your time.
Look deep into his face
with your infantine eyes,
your tiny defeating smile.
He murmurs,
'Not now.'
He turns away towards the door,
tilting the hourglass once more.
For some reason, the song 'Cemeteries of London' by Coldplay inspired thoughts for this one.
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