black

it is just you and i and a black night.
we fulfill our existence as told perfectly
in pages of my secret, mad chronicles.
and there too is the storm that once gave promise
to lend voices of its hundred winds
to your colorfully angry thoughts,

that is why they race north of here, your thoughts.
that is why silence rages in this black night,
a silence that outscreams the storm and its winds.
we blend with the silence, you and i, perfectly,
in a circle bound by an ancient promise:
but a mere line in my secret, unread chronicles,

we crumble together while the night chronicles
each removed dark piece contaminating thoughts,
outcast black words resurrected from a dead promise,
and there too are the whispers of night
revealed beneath coats of lies that fit them perfectly.
unnoticed they escape and they ride the winds,

and i notice the stillness that follows the winds,
the stillness, the blank pages, of my dark chronicles,
we fall well between the lines, we land perfectly.
here we transcend all mortal thoughts,
untouched neither by storm nor by anger nor by night,
unstained by touch of mortal promise,

it is just you and i and a black night's promise
of a moment of lesser disturbance from winds,
it is just you and i and this black night,
with random dreams from my mad chronicles.
we dissect these dreams for some pure thoughts.
a few pure thoughts can heal us perfectly,

with all the past and masks removed, we kiss perfectly,
this time there is no necessity for mortal promise.
we free your colorfully angry thoughts,
scattered, in places we forsake, by the winds.
forgotten, buried among words of my mad chronicles.
swallowed by the blackness of night,

it is just you and i tearing an old promise with the winds,
just a storm perfectly inking its own secret, mad chonicles.
it is just you and i weaving new thoughts, and one black night.

2003.nov.09

* sestina 1 of 2