Night’s Turbines

Awake in the presence of Night,
he claims the dreams from me,
and leads me onto my feet.

Noxious whispers clutch my lungs,
and drill madness into my bones.

The mocking shadows hide behind
night’s body, stretching to the yellow walls.

I shoot my arms through Night’s body
and grip the switch of illuminating armor.

The flaring explosion reveals illusions
on walls, portraits of shadows.

Night slithers into the floorboards,
and grinds the turbines of the basement.

Alarmed, I turn
to the looking glass.
Telling tales through my wild eyes.

My scorned memories swimming
in blind sight.

The Lens of Truth tells of Day,
the Achilles legend,
to dispel the Trojan Night,
and calm the Turbines.

And, once again,
Sleep unwinds,
kisses me,

kneeling me before Day.

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