The Lights Within The Dark

November 14, 2016
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The sun goes down
On a crisp autumn day
The daylight fades
And the noir of night comes out
To play


As the blues and pinks
Morph into indigos and blacks
The twinkles and flickers
Of the Manhattan skyline
Smite through the dead of night
I feel my burdens vanish


The melancholy that had pinned itself
Onto my lapel has suddenly become unsewn
The heaviness and sorrow with every breath taken
Whittles my woe down to the bone


For when those lights impinge on my gaze
I know sorrow can no longer afflict me
My eyes have seen true detriment
And so those visions shall flee


The hum of my automobile
Glistening down the avenue
Soothes me with its mellifluous chirp


As the moon travels its hemispheric path
Halfway round to the sun
Similar faces begin to prowl
And these cold yet gilded streets are crowded
With those seeking a similar thrill


It is most certain now
As I see the city, waiting there for me
With the towers’ gleams like a crystal ball
The party has just begun


The men laugh in pinstriped suits
And girls enter the room
All of them boasting shining pearls
Just to disguise deep sentiments


In the speakeasies, unfurled throughout the island
Booze and champagne flowed a plenty
The gothic labels on the bottles
Illustrated the lavishness to come
The madness and craze, people drinking away
Is a calming sight
To eyes scarred by the deeds of war
Yearning for a distraction to mask the torment


The lights of New York City
Shining restless through the night
Never fail to lift one’s spirits
Guiding wayward souls to yet another party
Another shindig with gilded glitz and glam
Where the luxuries never failed to please
Where the songs and dance seemingly never cease


“Drop me off in Harlem!”
I cry to the cabby
We speed off in a hurry
Dashing through midtown
Flying by Central Park
In order to catch the next Jazz vogue


The sensuous prose, the improvised notes
Crafting a glorious synthesized cabaret
Beneath the neon lights, and cacophonic buses
The drumbeats and brass rhapsody
Were spectacles not to be missed
Pageants to be upheld


On 135th street, a one-man show erupts
A single trumpet belting notes
To naught but a few
This affair goes noticed


In the apartment across the way
Another art is coming to fruition
The fruit it bares is not music notes
Rather an entrancing and passionate balladry
Emanating not only timely ideology
But mirages of hope


As I strolled back home
The festivities near over
A crowd of females passed me by
They showed more skin than expected
Their flapper robes-de-style  made obvious
Their promiscuous intentions


The men themselves were no exception
Exchanging ascots and ever-changing trends
For a touch of elegant déclassé
They too indulged in activities of the night
The city hid their immoral deeds with no remorse


As the dawn encroaches upon my quarter
The partygoers, the musicians, and the hosts
All retreated to their mundane dwellings
I did the same
With a realization burdened unto all:
That in such times,
The world has gone mad
Good is bad
The night is our day
And dark is our light


For we are cynics
Satiated by the fog in the dead of night
Only made whole
When distracted by pleasures and ease
At least, that’s the city I see


For the people who romp and roam
There is no better place for their seeds to be sewn
As we dress up and prepare to play
Taken we are by moral decay


For inside we are truly; hollow and empty
My fellow men, they are just like me

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