The night will always open up its arms…

The night will always open up its arms
To one like you, ye favored of the earth;
And shield you from the worst of worldly harms,
The way it has since your advantaged birth

Your travels done with such unthinking ease,
Tonight you are in Egypt for a spell;
While others scratch at dust upon their knees,
You’ve gifts unopened too profuse to tell

But why? It isn’t beauty or acclaim,
Although you’ve some of both, but just a share;
Your are not devious or full of shame,
You’re merely you, and mostly, you’re just there –

Perhaps, you’re not what I should contemplate,
But why I look at you, and curse my fate

the Table and the Day

Servant’s Book of Fables, Volume I, number 1.

the Day arose and dressed herself,
behaving as she’s always done;
to show her streaming rays of light,
her habits most quotidian

while in the wet backyard, there sat
a wooden Table: lone, depressed;
he’d known the sun’s act now for years,
and, day-to-day, grew less impressed

so one just sat, the other moved;
their paths, together once, had forked:
he’d come to hate her pathways bright,
for she shone on,
as he grew
warped