DESCENDS, THE NIGHT (September 28, 2005)
By Joe Buchholz

Descends, the night, to its cold
beneath the warm blanket of its dark,
which floods the mind with thoughts so obscure
as to emerse the compassionate into its depths;
fair is the heart what escapes this demure
tyrant called the night, whom leaves its mark,
makes the memory a distant friend, turns the young to old.

Descends, the night, to its fear
beneath the heroic blanket of its dark,
which floods the mind with thoughts so blank
as to emerse the courageous into its depths;
fair is the heart what escapes this dank
tyrant called the night, whom leaves its mark,
makes the memory a distant friend, makes the heartless hear.

Descends, the night, to its hollow
beneath the full blanket of its dark,
which floods the mind with thoughts so deep;
as to emerse the replete into its depths;
fair is the heart what escapes this stark
tyrant called the night, whom leaves its mark,
makes the memory a distant friend, makes the unwavering follow.