Night Light

(A tribute to Edgar Allen Poe's "The Cask Of Amontillado") 

They say that the greatest poets are insane.

They write with nothing to lose and nothing to gain.

Oh tranquil night… how I've missed you.

I recall with effervescence…

The eternal hour that you,

My once bitter nemesis,

Were caught off guard.

For it was in that moment when,

My loathing towards you snapped.

A vengeance protruded from my mind’s cavern,

Igniting your darkness, and

Procuring in me a neurotic frission.

Schadenfreude.

While witnessing your balmy immolation,

I bestowed upon the inferno,

A decree.

That you, like sugar…

Saccharine,

Would slowly ferment with each stroke of my pen.

A well-inked pen is mightier than the sword.

For it is the key to pathways not yet explored.

Alas,

My euphoria was only an evanescent flicker.

Your screams crackled from within the fumes.

The anguish made my heart grow sick,

And I was struck by an epiphany.

My benevolence spread its wings,

And you ascended from the fray.

My emotions dripped from my notebook page,

And onto your body.  

Pitter patter.

Splash.

Embracing your burns.

Heartening convalescence.

Invigorating your flesh once again.

Elegant poetry is the gateway to the soul.

It alleviates pain and renders self-control.

Evoking Venus’s delivery from the sea,

You emerged from your ashes in jovial nakedness,

Pure and blissful,

Rendering the barren patches of my mind in full bloom,

My muse was born.

Luminescence overtook me.

It was you, oh night,

Who granted me the light,

Which shines through my words.

Now, the sun’s slumber no longer awakens my foe,

That fiendish night that I used to know.

Instead, I am greeted by a gallant friend,

Whose generosity I commend.

The night invigorates my creativity,

And renders gratifying felicity.  

When the lights go out, I am free.

Only then can I truly see.

As a writer, you are not chained to life’s placid condition.

Through your words, all of your dreams may come to fruition.