The Beauty of Black

At the train's window
I pass through the night.
All black before me,
all purged of plight.

Up above, a surrounding dome
a screen of things beyond- sky.
Stars, aplenty, and my friend Orion
at my guard from that high.

And I stare at the surface of things,
searching nothing, freeing my mind
of theories, strifes and earthen strings.
All melt away and are left behind.

Bulbs I see, fires a few
suppressed in immutable calm
of black, just black, many a hue
for daytime beggars, like alms.

Eyes closed bring me no joy
for some mystery light they possess.
Silent pleasures, endless measures;
to me only night can bless
an escape to clear nothingness.

02-04-08