And Speaking of The Night,

“Silence, the child is trying to speak”

Echo’s, ruffle the crowd, as slowly
The music must end

And the swaying footsteps come to a halting beat
Lightly disrupting the endless paces through the moistness

Of the sand

The dark hue, relevant to the times of an earlier dust
Plays a soft showing; for the child must learn to stand

But before then, he must learn to bow

Electricity fills the clouded room,
Atmospheres growing intense with the anticipation
Of the wife on her wedding night

Trapped in hollowed ice, heartbeats tend to move at a steadier pace
And breathing becomes less regularly spoken then ever it is

“Yes, please place my hand”

One tear, irrelevant even to the heart-warming speeches
And the people who spoke them

The child must speak
But after, must learn insanities
And Pandora’s sorrows cannot be felt

For humans have come to love its lust