Darker Nights

There are suspiciously darker nights.

At dawn, the lighthouse expands its halos

and you think you have become too old

without being touched by its light.

Hungry worms roar, wait,

they rumble as if the body were their antagonist.

Nights similar to that cinder that does not want to perish

and struggles in anguish, even though it is useful no

more, and runs

while you miserably step on it, and it is

crawling on the floor, a stub of light.

Nights to put a mirror in front of you.

One thinks in the brevity of God, the lasting

of sin, the pain of those who dwell in hell.

The meowing also hurts, they are cats at large,

running away through the prickly joy of felines.

There are somber, cruel nights full of regret

heard by an invisible confessor. Lonelier,

darker, as the suit of dead friends.

Darker Nights - Poem of Piero Ramos Rasmussen